-:^^ 


^^^^c^ 


COy' 


^ 


^^%^^ 


</ 


'■'-"••'■••  ■- 


V 


Prii^oi 


Frinii   ai 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT  OF 

lalifornia  State  Library 


r- 


/.ii, 


iiiiri/ , 


ik 


tcr  of  all 

ers  of  tlic 
!Ssion.     If 
ihraiy,  he    m 
rary,  three    11^ 
is  ■warrant,    ^1 

State,  for 

Qember  or 

and  has 


^'■•'"-  ^  ers  of  tlie 

T'^K''^'"''  t  any  time 

by  (be  (ji. . .,.!..,.  u...t  mv,  .^m^ci.T  xi  uii;  i-Aceiune  j-'L'iiarimeni  oi  this  iState. 
who  are  required  to  keep  their  ofiiccs-af  the  seat  of  government;  -the  Jus- 
ti.'cs  of  the  Supreme  Court ;  the' Attornej'-Gencral;  and  the  Trustees  of 
the  Library.  ,  ^ 


^^m^^^m^ 


r^T^^^^^^ 


BEXJ.  I'.  AVRnv,  STATE  PHIXTKR. 


^^^-^^^^^ 


m^ 


w.,^ 


?R 

a  Go 


RITA:  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

My  earliest  recollection  of  home  is  the  fourth  story  of  a 
house  in  a  dusky  street  in  Paris,  where  we  lived  when  I  was 
a  child.  We  moved  afterwards  to  a  brighter  apartment,  near 
the  Champs  Elysees  ;  but  it  is  with  this  gloomy  abode  that 
the  first  joys  and  sorrows  of  my  childhood  are  associated. 

It  used  to  make  me  giddy  to  look  out  of  window  upon  the 
top  of  the  people's  heads  below,  and  on  our  return  from  a 
walk,  how  often  and  how  wearily  have  I  counted  the  hun- 
clfed  and  thirteen  steps  we  had  to  climb ! 

I  was  the  first-born  of  English  parents ;  and  born  on 
undeniably  English  ground,  —  within  the  Tower  of  Loudon, 
where  my  father,  Colonel  Percival,  was  then  quartered  in 
the  Guards.  After  the  birth  of  a  second  child,  he  sold  out 
and  came  abroad,  overwhelmed  with  debt,  and  chose  Paris 
—  of  all  places  —  to  commence  his  career  of  economy. 
But  I  must  go  back  yet  a  little  further,  to  say  a  few  words 
of  my  mother  and  her  family,  and  explain  how  I  came  to 
be  born  at  all. 

jMy  mother  was  the  fourth  daughter  of  the  Honorable 
Ernest  Rossborough,  and  as  all  the  world  knew,  had  not 
a  penny.  She  had  been  the  belle  of  a  season,  as  her  three 
sisters  had  been  before  her  (all  but  one  of  whom  were 
dead),  and  it  was  thought  she  might  have  done  better  for 

(3) 

*-V  -"'■/'     ■:    ■  t      *'  *> 


4  KITA : 

herself  than  marry  Jack  Percival,  with  little  besides  his 
good  looks  and  his  gay  reputation.  Perhaps  my  mother's 
vanity  Avas  gratified  at  the  idea  of  carrying  off  the  hand- 
somest man  about  town,  who  had  flirted  and  jilted  through 
so  many  seasons.  Yet  it  was  not  believed  to  be  a  love- 
match  —  on  my  father's  side  at  least  —  but  rather  the  result 
of  some  pique  and  disappointment.  However  this  may 
have  been  (I  now  know  the  true  and  the  false),  I  will 
plainly  say,  that  so  long  as  I  remember  any  thing,  their 
married  life  was  the  reverse  of  happy. 

And  here  let  me  draw  the  reader  aside  for  a  few  minutes, 
that  he  may  understand  my  object  in  sitting  down  to  recall, 
as  faithfully  as  I  can,  some  passages  of  my  past  life.  Mon- 
taigne says  of  his  admirable  Essays:  Ce  sont  mes  gestes, 
c'est  moy,  c'est  mon  essence."  Every  autobiography  should 
fulfil  these  conditions  in  some  measui-e.  It  is  that  inner 
world,  of  which  the  outward  life  is  but  a  faint  reflection, 
which  it  behooves  the  self-historian  to  lay  bare  to  the  view 
of  his  readers.  If  the  narrative  of  an  obscure  life  can  be 
of  any  interest,  it  must  be  by  speaking  "  the  whole  truth  and 
nothing  but  the  truth ; "  if  it  can  serve  any  good  purpo3i 
to  retrace  one's  steps  over  the  battle-field,  marking  the 
struggle  here,  the  victory  or  defeat  there,  assuredly  this 
can  only  be  done  satisfactorily  by  considering  also  the 
past  generalship,  and  its  secret  tactics  which  we  alone  can 
divulge.  ,  ' 

The  lives  that  most  directly  influence  our  own  are  those 
of  our  parents.  In  speaking  of  mine,  therefore,  however 
painful  the  task,  I  shall  not  consider  myself  justified  in 
withholding  any  circumstance  that,  in  its  results,  shall  seem 
to  have  affected  my  character,  my  actions,  or  my  after  life. 
But  I  shall  be  fully  as  candid  about  myself,  I  hope  :  avoid- 
ing the  error  of  those  recently  published  Memoirs  (would 
I  could  emulate  their  grace  and  charm !)  in  which  the 
gifted   authoress   holds   up   her  mother's  weakness   to   the 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  5 

world's   mirror,  while   she   carefully  veils  the  full-face  re- 
flection of  her  own. 

M^  father  Was  the  handsomest  man  I  have  ever  seen ; 
and  he  kejot  his  looks  marvellously,  for  years.  He  had  been 
brought  up  in  the  ways  of  his  fathers,  and  was  no  more  vi- 
cious, I  suppose,  than  most  of  the  young  men  of  the  Regent 
period.  He  was  by  nature  dehonnaire  —  what  is  called 
"  ^t)0(f-natured "  by  the  world,  where  he  was  certainly  a 
popular  man  upon  the  whole.  But  he  was  selfish  and  sen- 
sual, and  though  he  had  one  absorbing  passion  which  will  be 
touched  on  hereafter,  his  temperament  Avas  lukewarm.  He 
was  incapable  of  a  strong  and  deep  affection  such  as  re- 
deems, in  our  poor  human  sight,  a  world  of  sin.  He  had, 
indeed,  once  in  his  life,  loved  "  wisely,"  but  not  well  enough 
to  save  him  from  his  Aveaker  self.  Early  habits  of  self-in- 
dulgence, without  any  controlling  principle,  vitiate  the  char- 
acter eventually  more  than  the  fiercest  passions.  From  the 
ashes  of  such,  when  subdued,  rise  the  strongest  characters ; 
my  father's  was  essentially  weak.  With  years,  indeed,  and 
the  life  he  led,  together  with  the  harass  of  his  accumulated 
debts,  he  became  irritable,  and  even  violent  at  times.  We 
children  seldom  saw  him ;  he  was  very  little  at  home.  But 
there  is  a  moral  intuition,  often  far  in  advance  of  the  intel- 
lect. I  was  not  four  years  old  when  I  felt  that  my  father 
was,  somehow  or  other,  the  cause  of  my  mother's  frequent 
tears.  I  have  a  distinct  recollection  of  one  terrible  scene  — 
a  storm  of  sobs,  reproaches,  oaths,  that  sent  me  cowering  io 
the  window-curtains,  Avhere  I  hid  and  trembled,  and  which 
visited  me  at  night  again  in  strange  and  terrible  dreams.  I 
cannot  remember  when  it  was  I  first  became  aware  that  a 
want  of  money  was  the  evil  (after  that  primary  one  of  want 
of  unity  in  its  heads)  that  tended  to  depress  the  family  ther- 
mometer. I  must  have  been  still  very  young ;  for  one  of 
my  earliest  recollections  is  my  mother's  lament  over  au 
empty  purse,  and  her   subtei-fuges   to   escape   paying   the 


6  RITA : 

week's   washing.     I   speculated  thereon  in  secret,  and  hid 
three  sous  away  very  carefully  in  a  hole  in  the  floor. 

My  dear  mother  was  not  a  wise  woman.  She  wanted 
energy  to  master  the  position  of  our  affairs,  and  to  try  and 
better  them  ;  and  tact  to  gain  an  influence  over  her  husband. 
I  never  saw  her  out  of  temper  in  my  life  ;  and  she  was  sore- 
ly tried.  But  upon  the  other  hand  tears  and  reproaches 
from  a  sofa  were  the  least  available  arguments  for  a  man  of 
my  father's  temperament,  who,  after  a  night's  dissipation, 
rose  up  ready  as  a  lion  to  run  his  course.  And  that  course 
was  often  fatal  to  domestic  unity.  My  mother  lay  on  the 
sofa,  and  mended  our  clothes  ;  receiving  the  few  fine  ladies 
who  still,  for  the  sake  of  old  acquaintance,  took  the  trouble, 
when  they  came  to  Paris,  of  climbing  up  four  pair  of  stairs 
to  see  "  that  poor  Mrs.  Percival,"  with  a  courtly  grace  that 
would  not  have  ill-fitted  some  royal  lady  conferring  the  hon- 
ors of  the  tabouret  on  her  distinguished  visitors  in  the  old 
palace  yonder. 

Ill  health  very  early  compelled  my  mother  to  give  up  go- 
ing into  society  ;  but  I  well  remember  my  Avonder  and  ad- 
miration once  at  seeing  her  dressed  for  a  ball;  and  my 
creeping  up  to  touch  the  soft  white  satin,  and  thinking  she 
must  be  like  Cinderella.  She  soon  grew  large  and  unwieldy, 
from  lying  so  constantly  on  the  sofa,  but  her  face  remained 
beautiful  to  the  very  last,  and  at  fifty  her  hand  might  have 
served  as  a  model  for  a  sculptor.  She  deserved  great  cred- 
it for  her  endeavors  "  to  make  both  ends  meet,"  and  as  far 
as  herself  and  children  were  concerned  the  expenditure  was 
small  indeed  ;  but  she  wept  over  the  extravagances  that  re- 
duced our  wardrobe  to  bare,  thread-hixvc  necessaries,  and 
our  attendants  to  one  poor  English  nurse-girl. 

We  were  five  in  number,  llose,  my  only  sister,  was  a 
year  younger  than  I,  and  took  after  my  mother's  family,  as 
I  was  thought  to  resemble  my  father's.  She  early  gave 
pi'omise  of  great  beauty,  and  was,  not  unnaturally,  my  moth- 


AK   AUTOBIOGKAPHY.  7 

ei-'s  favorite.  So  radiant  a  looking  child  I  never  saw ;  her 
complexion  brilliant,  her  eyes  large  and  liquid,  her  long  hair 
full  of  light  and  sunshine.  She  inherited,  moreover,  the 
grace  that  was  immortalized  in  a  picture  of  our  great-grand- 
mother. Lady  Eossborough,  by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  of 
which  an  engraving  hung  in  the  drawing-room,  in  a  gilt 
frame,  surmounted  by  a  coronet  on  a  fat  cushion. 

My  brother  Ernest  came  next;  a  handsome  boy,  pos- 
sessed of  good  natural  abilities,  alternately  petted  and  neg- 
lected by  my  father,  till  he  threatened  to  become  completely 
unmanageable,  and  was  a  perfect  firebrand  in  the  nursery. 

The  fimily  group  closed  with  my  twin-brothers,  Arthur 
and  Roger,  whom  my  father  never  forgave  for  making  their 
unexpected  appearance  in  this  world  together,  after  an  inter- 
val of  six  years.  They  were  so  sickly  that  it  was  thought 
at  first  they  could  not  live ;  but  having  struggled  through 
their  teething,  and  other  ills  of  cradlehood,  contrary  to  the 
prophecy  of  all  the  English  nurses  in  Paris,  they  began  to 
assert  their  intention  of  remaining  upon  this  "  shifting  scene  " 
with  very  strong  lungs  indeed.  It  was,  no  doubt,  owing  to 
my  mother's  unremitting  care  that  my  twin-brothers  were 
reared ;  and  this  devotion,  which  was  intended  to  compen- 
sate for  my  father's  unnatural  aversion,  endeared  them  to 
her  twofold,  especially  Arthur,  who  was  singularly  plain  to 
come  of  such  handsome  parents,  and  on  whom  I  can  posi- 
tively affirm  I  never  saw  my  father  bestow  a  single  kind 
word  or  a  caress. 

My  father,  as  I  have  said,  was  immersed  in  the  dissipa- 
tions of  Paris.  Often  have  I  heard  him  come  home  at  four 
or  five  in  the  morning :  the  heavy  step,  tlie  click  of  the 
latch-key  in  the  door,  the  stumbling  through  the  rooms  in  the 
dim  light  of  a  perishing  lamp,  and  flie  curse  if  it  suddenly 
went  out !  —  I  seem  to  hear  it  all  again  as  distinctly  as  when 
I  lay  in  my  little  bed  against  the  wall,  and  trembled.  Jean 
Paul  asks,  "  Who  would  not  become  a  child  again !  "     Ah  ! 


8  RITA : 

no  one  whose  childhood  has  been  overshadowed  by  the 
heavy  cloud  that  mine  was. 

How  little  any  of  the  grand  ladies  we  occasionally  saw, 
guessed  all  the  shifts  to  which  we  children  were  often  put 
for  a  dinner.  How  httle  did  they  think  that  the  bonbons 
they  brought  would  serve  pi'obably  to  silence  my  hunger  at 
bedtime  !  Speaking  of  this  reminds  me  of  a  circumstance 
wliich  occurred  when  I  was  about  five  years  old.  I  had 
been  taken  by  my  nurse  to  see  Lady  Greybrook,  who  was  a 
very  fine  lady,  and  a  friend  of  my  father's  rather  than  of  my 
mother's.  She  lived  in  the  place  Vendome.  I  remember 
thei*e  was  a  great  stone  staircase,  and  a  powdered  footman, 
who  relieved  Betsy  of  her  charge,  and  desired  the  "young 
woman  "  in  a  patronizing  way  to  sit  down,  while  he  carried 
me  through  a  suite  of  gilded  salons  to  my  lady's  boudoir. 
My  imagination  was  much  impressed,  and  it  was  with  some 
feeling  of  awe  that  I  found  myself  in  the  great  lady's  pres- 
ence. She  eyed  me  attentively,  took  me  on  her  lap,  and 
praised  my  long  eyelashes.  I  was  fully  sensible  of  the  com- 
pliment, and  being  reassured,  ventured  to  look  up  into  her 
face.  She  declared  I  was  the  image  of  my  father.  I 
thought  her  like  the  beautiful  dolls  I  always  coveted  in  the 
shop-windows. 

"And  now,  little  Marguerite,  tell  me  what  you  would 
like  best  to  have  in  the  whole  world  ?  " 

I  colored  and  hesitated.  If  her  ladyship  expected  that  I 
should  say  a  cornet  de  dragees  (I  saw  the  corner  of  one  ready 
in  ambush  behind  the  sofa-cushion),  she  was  mistaken.  I 
hesitated,  but  only  for  a  moment,  then  replied  boldly, 

"  A  pair  of  new  shoes !  " 

Her  ladyship  burst  out  laughing,  glanced  down  at  my 
well-worn  boots,  through  which  the  toes  were  beginning  to 
appear,  and  cried, 

"  QiCelle  est  originale,  la  retite !  You  shall  have  a  pair 
tomorrow,  Marguerite  —  the  smartest  I  can  find.    In  the 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  9 

mean  time,  here  are  some  chocolate  boots,  and  heaven  knows 
what  besides." 

I  did  not  see  that  lady  again  for  many  a  long  year,  but  she 
was  always  connected  in  my  mind  with  a  certain  pair  of  blue 

kid  shoes. 

My  education,  until  I  was  about  eight  years  old,  was  as 
completely  neglected  as  it  is  possible  to  conceive.  In  the 
matter  of  religion,  my  very  grand  godfather  and  godmothers 
having  undertaken  to  be  responsible  for  my  sins,  it  seems  to 
have  been  thought  that  all  had  been  done  that  was  necessary. 
I  received  the  name  of  Marguerite  —  abbreviated  very  soon 
into  Rita  —  from  one  of  these  godmothers,  whom,  in  con- 
sideration to  her  feelings,  I  shall  not  more  particularly  name, 
seeing  that  from  the  hour  she  stood  by  me  at  the  font  she 
never  troubled  her  head  further  about  me.  A  certain  con- 
ventional religion  overtook  us  on  Sunday  afternoons,  moving 
us  to  certain  forms.  I  also  repeated  the  Lord's  Prayer  every 
night  and  morning  —  when  I  was  not  too  sleepy,  or  too  late 
and  lazy  —  and  was  instructed  to  say  grace  (which  my  mother 
remembered  to  have  been  done  always  in  the  schoolroom  at 
Rossborough)  before  and  after  every  meal,  and  as  they  were 
often  scanty,  I  am  afraid  I  seldom  felt  properly  grateful.  So 
far  went  our  faith,  and  no  further. 

I  never  remember  learning  to  read.  That  I  did  so,  some- 
how or  other,  is  clear,  and  the  use  I  soon  made  of  the  ac- 
complishment was  to  devour  all  the  books  (seldom  very 
healthy  ones)  I  could  find.  Of  that  respectable  course  of 
instruction  which  comprises  "  writing,  arithmetic,  geography, 
v/ith  the  use  of  the  globes,"  through  which  every  farmer's 
daughter  of  ten  years  old  in  England  passes,  my  sister  and  I 
knew  nothing  when  long  past  that  age. 

But  I  am  running  on  too  fast.  A  death  occurred  in  my 
mother's  family  when  I  was  only  nine,  which  considerably 
changed  the  aspect  of  our  affairs.  I  say  aspect,  for  it  was 
perhaps  more  in  appearance   than   reality,  as  the  state  of 


10  RITA:    AN    AUTOBIOGUAPUY. 

ignorance  we  children  were  still  left  in  proved.  Yet  the  drop 
from  a  fourth  floor  to  a  first  is,  after  all,  an  important  event 
in  life,  and  as  such  claims  especial  notice. 

I  was  alone  in  the  drawmg-room,  when  my  father  burst 
open  the  door. 

"  Rita,  where  is  your  mother  ?  " 
"  Lying  down." 

"  Come,  off  with  my  boots,  old  Queen  of  Tarts ! "  (a  form 
of  address  which  always  argued  well  for  my  father's  temper, 
and  which  originated  in  the  historical  ballad  of  the  "  Queen 
of  Hearts,"  etc.,  for  which  I  had  early  shown  a  predilection). 
"  That  frock 's  monstrous  shabby.  You  must  have  a  new  one 
—  a  black  silk  one,"  he  added,  holding  out  his  foot.  I 
knelt  down  to  unbutton  the  boot,  then  looked  up  into  his 
face. 

"  Papa,  what  is  it  ?     Is  Uncle  Eossborough  coming  ?  " 
This  was  the  event  to  which  I  knew  my  parents  were 
always  anxiously  looking  forward,  and  I  could  conceive  no 
other  cause  for  my  father's  elation.     He  laughed  aloud. 

"  Better  than  that,  old  Queen  of  Tarts  !  better  than  that ! 
The  old  curmudgeon's  rfeac?.  Fetch  me  my  slippers."  And 
he  kicked  his  boot  to  the  other  end  of  the  room. 

I  ran  for  the  slippers,  then  flew  to  my  mother's  room,  and 
such  was  my  anxiety  to  be  the  first  to  communicate  the 
intelhgence,  that  it  oozed  out  before  I  got  half-way  to  the 
bed. 

"  Mamma !  mamma !  Uncle  Eossborough  is  dead ! " 
She  started  from  her  pillow.     "  Good  God,  child  !  what  do 
you  mean  ?  " 

I  repeated  the  words,  and  my  father,  following  me,  cor- 
roborated them.    She  pressed  her  hands  to  her  eyes.   "  Poor 
old  Uncle  John  ! "     Then  after  a  pause,  raising  them  to  my 
father's  face,  she  looked  into  it  eagerly,  inquiringly. 
"  Four  thousand  pounds  ! " 


CHAPTER  II. 

John,  fourth  Baron  Rossborough,  was  my  mother's  uncle, 
being  her  father's  eldest  brother.  He  was  rich  ;  and  certainly 
not  prodigal :  he  never  married,  and  as  none  of  his  brothers 
had  a  son,  the  title,  at  his  death,  became  extinct.  Nieces, 
however,  there  were  in  abundance,  who  used  to  overwhelm 
him  with  knitted  purses,  muffitees,  and  the  like,  but  as  he 
seldom  gave  any  thing  in  return,  I  do  not  think  his  loss  was 
mourned  in  proportion  to  the  affection  that  had  been  mani- 
fested for  him  in  his  lifetime.  My  mother  had  indulged  in 
the  most  absurd  dreams  of  his  making  Ernest  his  heir.  The 
old  gentleman  had  taken  a  fancy  to  him  as  a  baby,  when  the 
former  once  passed  through  Paris,  y^ars  before,  and  my 
mother's  hopes  fed  on  the  vague  promise  he  then  made  of 
repeating  his  visit.  She  kept  up  a  regular  correspondence 
with  him,  and  he  answered  her  letters  with  great  exactitude, 
at  the  same  time  politely  evading  the  advance  of  a  shilHng 
towards  the  liquidation  of  my  father's  debts.  My  mother  felt 
shocked,  and  mildly  affected,  at  my  uncle's  sudden  demise, 
and  considered  herself  aggrieved  that  the  bulk  of  his  fortune 
should  be  left  to  a  cousin  (to  the  annihilation  of  her  Spanish 
castle)  ;  but  finally  consoling  herself  with  the  comfortable 
reality  of  the  legacy  —  so  sorely  needed  in  our  condition  — 
she  and  my  father  sat  down  to  talk  over  matters  together  more 
serenely  than  I  ever  remember  to  have  seen  them. 

I  retained  a  clear  recollection  of  Lord  Rossborough  as  an 

old  gentleman  in  a  scratch  wig.     lie  had  presented  me,  upon 

that  memorable  visit,  with  an  Enghsh  pocket-book  adorned 

(11) 


12  RITAr 

with  choice  engravings,  and  amongst  them  one  of  a  Grecian 
temple  in  an  umbrageous  park,  with  very  large  deer  and  a 
lady  with  a  parasol  in  the  foreground,  under  which,  "  Ross- 
borough  Hall,  SuflPolk,  the  seat  of  Baron  Rossborough,"  the 
whole  bound  in  red  leather,  value  one  and  sixpence.  This 
was  all  I  had  known  of  my  great  uncle.  The  following  day, 
there  was  an  unusual  number  of  visitoi'S,  none  of  whom  were 
admitted,  though  my  mother  was  at  home,  and  in  the  enjoy- 
ment of  far  better  spirits  than  usual.  I  wondered,  therefore, 
exceedingly,  as  I  stood  in  the  ante-room,  to  hear  one  lady 
inquire,  "  How  poor  Mi's.  Percival  was  ?  "  to  which  Betsy, 
coming  to  the  rescue  of  her  one  fellow-servant  at  this  trying 
juncture  responded,  with  great  gravity, 

"  As  well  as  can  be  'spected,  ma'am,  hunder  her  'ffliction." 

The  social  position  of  the  deceased  called  forth  this  uni- 
versal sympathy,  I  suppose ;  and  as  to  my  mother,  she  was 
only  following  the  well-known  conventions  of  society.  It  was 
my  first  initiation  into  the  "  forms,  modes,  shows  of  grief." 

My  parents  agreed  that  the  first  thing  to  be  done  was  to 
move  to  a  more  commodious  and  airy  apartment.  My  father 
paid  his  creditors,  whose  claims  amounted  to  upwards  of 
fifteen  hundred  pounds  ;  my  mother  restocked  our  wardrobe  ; 
and  a  man-servant  was  added  to  the  establishment,  who 
united  in  his  person  the  offices  of  butler  and  housemaid. 
Betsy,  thereupon,  became  our  exclusive  property,  and  hard 
enough  work  she  had,  now  that  "  Master  Hernest "  was  of  an 
age  to  imitate  the  young  gamins  in  the  street,  and  insist  upon 
standing  on  his  head  in  the  bath,  in  spite  of  nurse's  entreaties 
that  he  would  assume  a  more  becoming  posture.  AVhat  a 
life  he  led  her  and  the  French  girl  who  was  now  installed  as 
her  coadjutor ! 

The  first  Sunday  after  our  "  sad  loss "  my  mother  came 
down  resplendent  in  black  satin,  like  a  complete  suit  of 
court-plaister,  and  armed  cap-a-pie  with  crape  and  bugles. 
She  went  to  church,  which  she  had  not  done  for  an  age,  and 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  13 

we  dined  that  day,  for  the  first  time,  like  honest  British  chil- 
dren, on  roast-beef  and  plnm-pudding,  having  our  loins  girt 
with  sable  sashes  of  inordinate  width. 

OOV  new  apartment  was  pleasantly  situated,  having  a  side- 
long glance  at  the  gi-een  alleys  of  the  Champs  Elysees,  and 
at  the  everflowing  tide  of  pedestrians  that  flock  thitherward, 
especially  on  Sundays.  It  took  a  holiday  view  of  the  world, 
just  as  our  former  abode,  in  the  grim  narrow  street  of  tall 
houses,  with  a  tinker  living  in  the  back-court,  and  a  dyer 
opposite,  saw  life  in  its  work-a-day  aspect.  As  it  was  here 
that  I  was  destined  to  pass  so  many  years,  I  may  as  well* 
describe  our  new  home.  It  was  spacious  enough.  The 
ante-room,  three  sides  of  which  were  studded  with  doors 
and  the  fourth  with  windows,  served  also  as  our  dining-room. 
It  communicated,  on  one  side,  with  our  nursery  department 
and  the  servants'  domain ;  on  the  other  with  the  drawing- 
room,  my  mother's  bedroom  (used  as  a  second  salon  for  the 
reception  of  privileged  visitors),  and  my  father's  dressing- 
room.  The  last  was  a  territory  I  never  penetrated  as  a 
child.  Glimpses  of  boots,  ranged  with  military  precision 
along  the  wall  (the  only  thing  in  the  room  that  seemed  or- 
derly) ;  a  table  strewed  with  papers,  razors,  spurs,  and 
brushes ;  coats  left,  as  they  had  been  thrown  oiF  on  the 
chair,  or  on  the  ground ;  and  everywhere  bills,  and  cards, 
and  shreds  of  "  Bell's  Life,"  —  glimpses  of  these  I  had  occa- 
sionally through  the  half-open  door,  but  the  room  itself  was 
strictly  interdicted.  So  much  for  the  new  home  ;  now  for 
the  inmates,  our  new  neighbors. 

Over  us  lived  a  little  old  French  general  and  his  wife, 
with  whom  I  very  soon  struck  up  an  intimacy.  He  had  be- 
longed to  Napoleon's  army,  and  had  been  present  on  every 
battle-field,  from  Lodi  to  Waterloo.  I  loved  to  sit  ui)on  his 
knee,  and  get  him  to  describe  how  "mon  empereur"  pre- 
sented him  with  such  an  order  on  such  a  day ;  what  he  said, 
and  how  his  curt  praise  was  more  than  whole  speeches  from 


14  RITA : 

other  men ;  together  with  anecdotes  of  the  fair  Beauharnais 
and  TaUien,  and  of  the  times  when  they  of  the  camp  relaxed 
the  pressure  of  their  iron  harness  for  a  breathing-space,  un- 
der the  softening  infiuence  of  beauty.  Not  that  my  idea  of 
a  warrior  at  all  resembled  that  yellow  old  gentleman,  pro- 
fuse in  snuff,  and  sparing  of  pocket-handkerchief ;  but  then 
he  had  lost  two  fingers,  and  had  a  gallant  wound  right  across 
his  forehead,  which  compensated,  in  a  great  measure,  for  his 
not  being  dressed  up  to  my  idea  of  the  part.  Every  thing 
about  him  was  old  and  yellow.  An  old  yellow  valet,  with 
•an  older  and  much  yellower  coachman,  who  di-ove  the  oldest 
and  yellowest  of  chariots,  more  scarred  and  plaistered  up 
than  the  General  himself.  These  he  was  pleased  to  term, 
"  mes  gens "  and  "  mon  equipage  ; "  for  he  was  a  little 
pompous,  sometimes,  was  General  Gobemouche,  save  upon 
the  battle-field  of  the  past,  which,  being  a  true  thing,  needed 
no  bombast,  as  the  false  airs  of  nobility  did.  He  seemed  to 
grow  twenty  years  younger  when  he  got  on  the  old  ground  : 
his  voice  cleared,  his  eye  brightened,  his  whole  manner  un- 
derwent a  pleasant  change.  And  was  n't  it  worth  while  to 
hear  him,  were  it  only  to  watch  Madame  Gobemouche,  lis- 
tening with  never-flagging  eager  interest,  as  though  she  now 
heard  the  recital  for  the  first  time  with  unmingled  wonder  ? 
"Was  n't  it  a  pardonable  fiction,  and  a  pleasant  one  (7  thought 
so,  I  know,  though  I  foresaw  it  coming  every  time),  by 
which  she  always  pretended  to  have  her  understanding 
darkened  at  cei'tain  parts  of  the  narrative,  and  to  need  en- 
lightenment upon  such  points,  as  '•'■where  Blucher  stood, 
when,  etc.  etc." 

Were  they  not,  in  fine,  admirably  suited  to  each  other  ? 
At  what  period  of  her  existence  this  good  and  faithful  ally 
signed  the  solemn  treaty  that  united  her  to  her  General,  I 
know  not.  Her  antecedents  were  shrouded  in  mystery:  and 
there  were  not  wanting  ill-natured  stories.  Some  said  she 
had  been  a  vivandiere,  and  knew  quite  as  much  about  the 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  15 

General's  battles  as  he  did  himself.  Some  declared  that 
she  had  been  the  personal  property  of  several  generals  in 
turn,  until,  at  last,  she  married  a  commissary,  and  that  it 
was  with  the  wealth  of  that  deceased  functionary  she  en- 
dowed the  General  upon  her  second  marriage.  The  latter 
part  of  this  I  beheve  to  have  been  true:  but  I  always 
thought  her  personal  appearance  the  most  powerful  refuta- 
tion of  the  scandal.  The  irregularities  of  her  face  forbade 
the  thought  of  any  in  her  conduct.  She  was  deeply  pitted 
with  smallpox :  her  complexion  more  like  a  coarse  cheap 
sponge  than  any  thing  else;  the  features  having  lost  all 
clear  articulation  of  outline,  and  presenting  a  generally  in- 
distinct and  bruised  appearance.  She  dressed  rather  with 
an  eye  to  strong  coloring  than  pleasing  combination,  and, 
alto";ether,  I  must  confess  there  was  a  decided  flavor  of 
camps  in  her  aspect  and  demeanor.  But  one  could  not  see 
her,  as  I  saw  her,  without  knowing  what  a  kind,  generous 
heart  beat  beneath  this  unpromising  exterior.  Somewhat 
touchy,  perhaps,  more  for  the  General's  dignity  than  her 
own;  irritable,  but  always  easily  restored  to  good  humor. 
She  had  two  large  teeth  —  I  should  be  more  correct  if  I 
said  tusks  —  when  I  first  knew  her,  which  kept  her  mouth 
ajar.  And,  curious  to  say,  it  was  a  circumstance  in  connec- 
tion with  these,  soon  after  I  knew  them,  which  was  the  means 
of  cementing  my  friendship  with  madame.  I  went  up,  one 
rainy  afternoon,  on  some  pretence  or  other,  and  found  her 
rocking  herself  to  and  fro,  and  declaring  that  she  was  "  at 
the  point  to  die."  Suffering  all  night  from  toothache  ;  den- 
tist sent  for,  and  not  yet  arrived.  Vain  was  the  help  of 
man,  meaning,  in  tliis  case,  the  General,  whose  efforts  to 
soothe  her  were,  of  course,  unavailing. 

"  Ca  —  9a,  viens  done,  ma  biche  —  calme-toi  —  9a  va 
mieux  a  present,  n'est-ce  pas,  Cocotte  ?  " 

But  Cocotte  refused  to  be  comforted,  and  only  rocked  her- 
self the  more,  declaring  that  it  was  "  un  enfer  insupportable." 


16  KIT  a: 

The  old  man's  face  wore  a  comical  look  of  puzzled  distress 
and  dismay.  He  had  stood  unmoved  on  battle-fields,  sur- 
rounded by  dead  and  dying.  He  was  not  proof  against  Co- 
cotte's  face-ache. 

He  walked  up  and  down  the  room,  wiped  his  forehead, 
looked  out  of  window — no  signs  of  dentist — walked  up  and 
down  again.     I  began  to  think  I  had  better  retire. 

"Mais,  diable  !  "  he  cried,  in  his  excitement  whipping  off 
tire  yellow  bandanna  he  always  wore  at  this  hour  knotted 
round  his  head  —  but  the  door  opened  at  the  same  moment, 
and  the  dentist  was  announced. 

He  proceeded  to  examine  the  mouth  in  the  regular  profes- 
sional way,  as  if  he  were  opening  an  oyster,  amid  the  violent 
contortions  of  the  sufferer.  There  was  an  awful  pause.  No 
one  spoke.  Then  sentence  was  pronounced  in  case  Jaw  v. 
Left  Tusk.  The  doom  of  the  offender  was  sealed.  The  days 
of  stopping  were  past.  Justice  had,  at  last,  overtaken  the 
notorious  criminal  —  he  was  condemned  to  be  drawn,  though 
not  quartered. 

Some  one  must  hold  the  head. 

At  this  the  General  started  up,  declaring  No !  he  could 
not  —  positively  could  not  stand  that— he  was  sure  he  could 
not  —  any  thing  but  that.  It  was  absurd  —  mais  que  voidez- 
vous  ?  his  nerves  were  not  strong  now.  Cocotte  must  spare 
him  —  and  yet  some  one  must  perform  the  dreadful  office. 
"What  was  to  be  done  ?  The  General's  hand  was  on  the  bell 
to  summon  the  yellow  old  valet.  "  Here,"  thought  I,  "  is  a 
fine  opportmiity  to  dis})lay  my  courage  before  the  General. 
It  is  disagreeable,  certainly,  having  to  hold  that  greasy  black 
wig,  and  to  see  that   man  tugging  away,  and  to  hear  her 

screams  —  but  then  I  can  shut  my  eyes,  if  not  my  ears  " 

and  so,  with  some  trepidation,  I  offered  my  services. 

The  dentist  looked  dubiously  at  me,  as  if  he  thought  I 
was  not  strong  enough  for  the  place ;  but  I  assured  him  I 
was  a  female  infant  Hercules,  though  so  small,  and  that  I 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  17 

would  hold  tight,  and  not  flinch,  or  turn  faint,  or  otherwise 
misconduct  myself.  The  General  was  delighted  at  the 
idea,  wrung  my  hand,  had  a  fit  of  hysteria  between  laughing 
and  his  other  emotions,  and  made  for  the  door  as  fast  as  he 
could.  The  victim  was  then  ordered  to  place  herself  on  a 
low  stool ;  I  stood  behind  to  give  myself  more  purchase. 
Off  went  the  cap,  the  wigged  head  fell  heavily  between  my 
knees.  Now  then  !  I  swooped  down  upon  my  prey,  and 
clutched  it  firmly  in  my  talons. 

The  operator  bends  over,  instrument  in  hand.  A  lurch, 
as  of  a  ship  in  a  heavy  sea  —  then  a  pause  —  groans  and 
stifled  shrieks  —  '•  Is  it  over  ?  " 

"  Not  yet —  coming." 

Another  lurch,  more  violent  than  the  last;  the  well- 
oiled  wig  slips  about  under  my  fingers,  like  a  Roman 
gladiator  from  the  grasp  of  his  foe  —  I  can  hardly  hold  it. 
Redoubled  groans  and  shrieks,  and  then  a  third  and  pro- 
longed wrench  —  and  all  is  over!  I  sink  back  for  a  mo- 
ment, quite  exhausted,  but  when  I  look  up  cannot  help 
laughing  at  the  sight  of  Madame  Gobemouche's  bald  and 
polished  head,  the  wig,  during  the  last  desperate  struggle, 
having  remained  in  my  tenacious  grasp.  Then  she  falls  to, 
embracing  me ;  the  dentist  holds  up  three  fangs  in  triumph, 
and  we  congratulate  each  other  mutually  on  our  several 
performances. 

After  this  signal  service  I  rose  greatly  in  the  estimation 
of  the  old  couple.  Hardly  a  day  elapsed  without  my  seeing 
them ;  frequent  were  the  little  presents  I  received,  and  in 
all  moments  of  distress  or  ennui  it  was  to  them  I  had  re- 
course. 

But  there  was  another  inmate  of  that  house  of  whom,  in 
process  of  time,  I  saw  as  much,  nay  more.  This  was 
Monsieur  Barac,  the  proprietor,  Avho  lived  on  the  ground- 
floor —  an  obese  old  gentleman,  generally  believed  to  be  of 
the  Hebrew  persuasion.     AVith  that,  however,  I  had  nothing 

2 


18  RITA: 

to  do  ;  noi-  is  it  probable  that  I  should  ever  have  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  him,  but  for  a  ruling  taste  which  had  early 
shown  itself  in  me.  Whenever  I  was  fractious  as  a  baby, 
I  have  been  told,  they  used  to  hoist  me  on  a  level  with  some 
colored  prints  that  hung  round  my  mother's  room,  and  I 
began  to  crow  with  unaccountable  delight.  And  as  I  grew 
in  childhood  a  pencil  and  the  back  of  a  letter  kept  me  quiet 
in  a  corner  for  hours,  while  my  brother  and  sister  were  at 
plaj.  I  created  all  sorts  of  fantastic  groups,  which  meant 
something  for  me,  however  unintelligible  to  others ;  made, 
as  I  imagined,  a  correct  copy  of  our  grandmother  in  Sir 
Joshua's  engraving ;  and  often  forgot  little  miseries  in  the 
solace  my  love  of  art  atfbrded  me. 

Now  Monsieur  Barac  was  a  connoisseur  and  speculator 
in  pictures.  He  made  a  journey  once  or  twice  a  year  to 
Holland  and  Belgium,  or  the  North  of  Italy,  and  his 
tobacco-smoked  apartment  was  always  rich  in  old  masters, 
often  disappearing  as  rapidly  as  they  came,  but  ready  to 
spring  up,  hydra-headed,  in  some  other  form,  so  soon  as  the 
wall  showed  a  blank.  He  took  a  fancy  to  the  little  dark- 
eyed  girl  who  stood  on  the  threshold  and  peeped  in  one  day, 
and  who,  after  the  first  invitation,  came  so  readily  to  look 
at  his  Rubenses  and  Rembrandts,  and  showed  such  a  ready 
apprehension  of  their  beauties.  He  was  very  kind  to  me  ; 
never  tired  of  my  questions,  always  pleased  at  my  delight 
when  a  gleam  of  sunshine  brought  out  some  hidden  beauty, 
patient  to  explain  in  what  the  painter's  art  was  most  cun- 
ning ;  careful  to  discriminate  and  compare  the  various 
gradations  of  excellence.  Sometimes  there  were  visitors 
with  liim,  strange  bearded-looking  men,  who  talked  in 
foreign  tongues  on  matters  connected  with  the  pictures,  as  I 
gathered  ;  but  when  I  found  these  men  there  I  never  staid. 
I  liked  old  Barac  alone,  and  alone  I  generally  found  him, 
with  a  greasy  velvet  cap,  a  meerschaum  pipe,  and  an  enor- 
mous sapphire  on  his  fore-finger,  with  apparently  no  other 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  19 

occupation  in  life  than  to  walk  iip  and  down  the  room,  and 
pass  his  silk  handkerchief  over  the  face  of  a  Gerard  Dow, 
should  he,  haply,  find  a  speck  of  dust  there,  and  then  to 
stand  with  his  back  to  the  stove,  as  if  in  a  constant  state  of 
preparation  for  something  or  other. 

At  last,  one  day.  when  I  was  admiring  a  little  chalk 
sketch  of  Rubens's,  he  suddenly  suggested  that  I  should  try 
and  copy  it.  "  You  will  not  succeed  —  never  mind  that  — 
must  make  a  beginning  —  all  artists  have  failed  at  first." 
This,  was  the  substance  of  his  words.  So  I  fetched  my 
pencil  and  a  sheet  of  coarse  gray  paper,  and,  nothing 
daunted  by  the  difficulty  of  the  task,  sat  down  full  of  vanity 
and  determination.  Of  course,  as  he  had  predicted,  nothing 
could  be  worse  than  it  was  —  my  cherub  had  a  foot  three 
times  the  size  of  his  head ;  but  I  tried  again  and  again, 
and  under  the  old  man's  careful  eye  at  last  produced  a  copy 
which  he  pronounced  very  fair  for  a  beginner.  With  what 
triumph  I  carried  it  up  to  my  mother  I  well  remember ; 
and  how  she  said  "  she  was  glad  of  any  thing  to  keep  me 
out  of  mischief,"  and  took  no  further  notice ;  and  what 
wonder  the  production  of  my  full-blown  cherub  produced  in 
the  nursery.  From  that  time  I  generally  spent  an  hour  or 
two  of  every  day  in  Monsieur  Barac's  room ;  drawing,  Avith 
little  success  it  is  true,  but  with  unflagging  ardor  and 
perseverance.  Few  parents,  probably,  would  have  given 
me  this  unrestricted  license,  but  I  might  have  made  a 
pilgrimage  to  Rome  and  back  without  my  father's  discover- 
ing my  absence,  and  my  mother,  with  four  other  children  to 
think  of,  was  only  too  glad,  as  she  said,  to  have  me  out  of 
the  way,  and  where  she  knew  I  was  safe. 

For  our  education  still  fared  ill.  There  had  been  a  talk 
of  sending  my  sister  and  me  to  some  cheap  French  school ; 
but  two  years  had  rolled  by  and  this  was  not  done,  and  my 
father's  afiliirs,  meantime,  were  gradually  returning  to 
pretty  much  the  state  they  were  m  before  that  windfall  of  a 


20  RITA:   AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

legacy  came  to  us.  Duns  again  poured  in  with  the  old 
regularity ;  for  though  my  father's  income  was  improved  by 
the  investment  of  the  2500Z.  that  remained  after  the  pay- 
ment of  his  debts,  he  had  largely  exceeded  it  each  of  the 
following  years,  so  my  mother  was  obliged  to  abandon  the 
idea  of  a  school  for  us  girls.  But  something  must  soon  be 
done  about  Ernest,  who  was  now  nine,  and  becoming  quite 
unmanageable  at  school.  If  he  was  to  go  to  India  —  and 
my  father  had  the  promise  of  a  cadetship  —  he  must  receive 
some  preparatory  education.  "  As  to  us  gix'ls,  we  must  get 
on  as  well  as  Ave  could,  and  should  certainly  have  some 
dancing  lessons  by  and  by."  This  was  my  father's  decision, 
and  general  view  of  the  importance  of  education. 

How  long  matters  might  have  gone  on  so  it  is  hard  to 
say ;  indeed  I  suppose  I  should  never  have  written  these 
passages  in  my  life,  but  for  an  event  which  happened  just 
as  I  entered  my  thirteenth  year,  and  which  was  destined  to 
have  a  lasting  influence  over  my  whole  future. 


CHAPTER  HI. 

"  Your  aunt  Mary  is  coming  liere  on  her  way  to  Italy," 
said  my  mother  one  morning,  holding  a  letter  in  her  hand. 
"  She  inquires  a  great  deal  about  you,  Rita.  Do  you  re- 
member her  when  you  were  quite  a  little  thing  at  grand- 
papa's, in  London  ?  " 

"  No,  mamma,  not  the  least." 

"  Well,  to  be  sure,  you  were  only  two  years  old,  I  believe. 
Emily,  I  know,  was  a  year  older,  and  no  bigger  than  you 
were.  Poor  Emily !  Your  aunt  writes  that  she  is  as  tall 
as  herself  now.  I  'm  afraid  she  has  been  growing  too  fast, 
for  the  doctors  have  sent  her  to  a  warm  climate ;  but  you  are 
terribly  short  for  your  age.  I  wonder  when  you  will  grow, 
my  dear  child  ?  " 

"  Ah !  I  remember  Emily's  face,"  said  I,  somewhat  net- 
tled, "  she  had  red  hair  and  freckles."  In  fact  I  retained 
a  very  distinct  recollection  of  my  grandpapa's  gloomy  house 
in  Pall-Mall,  and  some  of  its  inmates,  among  them  my  little 
cousin. 

"  Poor  child  !    Her  mother  seems  very  uneasy  about  her." 

"  Has  she  no  brothers  or  sisters,  mamma  ?  " 

'*  None  ;  she  is  your  aunt's  only  child,  and  a  great  heiress." 
(A  sigh.) 

"  What  is  an  heiress  ?  " 

"  A  rich  woman,  dear."  (My  mother's  definitions  were  not 
generic.)  «  Her  father.  Sir  Nicholas,  died  when  she  was  very 
young,  and  left  all  his  fortune  to  your  aunt  for  her  life  ;  after- 
wards, of  course,  it  goes  to  Emily.     Dreadful  thing  if  she 

(21) 


22  rita: 

dies !  the  fortune,  of  course,  goes  to  some  distant  branch  of 
the  Dacre  family.  Poor  Mary  !  "  sighed  she,  aside  to  her- 
self; "  and  after  all  she  has  gone  through  ! " 

"  What  makes  her  unhappy  ?  Have  all  her  other  children 
died  ?  " 

"  People  can  be  unhappy  in  other  ways  besides  their  chil- 
dren dying.  Every  one  has  n't  as  many  brothers  and  sisters 
as  you.     Emily  never  had  any.     Heigh-ho  ! " 

"  "What 's  the  use  of  money,  then,  if  it  can't  make  people 
happy  ?  I  thought  that  we  —  I  've  heard  you  say  that  if  you 
and  papa  Avere  rich,  Ave  should  have  every  thing  we  want ; 
but  if  aunt  is  so  unhappy,  I  don't  see  that  this  big  fortune  is 
of  much  use  to  her." 

"  Little  girls  can't  understand  these  sort  of  things.  Money, 
Eita,  is  worth  rank,  and  talent,  and  beauty,  and  every  thing 
else;  by-and-by  you'll  kn6w  that.  It  won't  make  a  sick 
child,  like  Emily,  well  —  that,  you  ought  to  be  aware,  God 
alone  can  do ;  but  it  enables  your  aunt  to  undertake  an  ex- 
pensive journey  to  attain  that  object.  Were  she  as  poor  as 
we  are"  (with  a  touch  of  bitterness)  "Emily  must  die. 
Thank  God,  my  dear,  you  are  all  strong,  and  don't  require 
much  care." 

It  was  seldom  my  mother  spoke  with  so  much  energy. 
Seldom,  too,  the  logic  of  lier  answers  reached  me  as  clearly 
as  this.     The  power  of  money  seemed  doubled  in  my  eyes. 

About  a  fortnight  after  this  Lady  Dacre  and  Emily 
arrived  in  Paris.  I  remember  the  circumstances  of  that 
arrival  as  if  it  were  yesterday.  My  aunt  wrote  to  say  she 
Avould  drive  to  our  house  first,  to  know  whether  we  had  taken 
apartments  for  her  at  Meurice's  or  elsewhere.  It  was  early 
in  November,  but  the  afternoon  was  raw  and  foggy ;  the  outer 
world  from  our  windows  looked  very  cheerless  as  we  stood 
and  watched  down  the  Champs  Elysees,  eacl^  anxious  to  be 
the  first  to  see  and  to  announce  the  expected  arrival.  My 
father  and  mother  were  both  in  the  room;  she  upon  the 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  23 

sofa,  he  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  apparently  engaged  in  no 
very  pleasant  reflections.  As  no  one  spoke  —  for  our  re- 
marks to  each  other  on  the  passers-by  were  carried  on  in 
whispers  — the  silence,  in  the  twilight,  became  quite  oppres- 
sive ;  it  was  mine  to  break  the  spell.  "  Here  they  are  ! " 
The  faint  cracking  of  a  whip  in  the  distance,  that  prolonged 
"  crick-crack  "  of  the  postilion  caught  my  ear,  and  in  another 
minute  the  jack-boots,  feathers,  and  tassels  of  the  noisy  per- 
formers came  bumping  thi-ough  the  fog  upon  their  steaming 
horses,  which  they  pulled  up  with  a  great  jerk  before  our 
porte  cochere.  I  heard  the  drawing-room  door  bang — my 
father  had  left  the  room.  I  thought  he  was  gone  down  to 
receive  my  aunt ;  but  the  steps  of  the  well-mudded  chariot 
were  lowered  by  an  undeniable  English  footman,  and  two 
figures  descended  without  the  assistance  of  my  fother's  arm. 
My  mother  was  uncoiling  herself  from  her  shawls  on  the 
sofa  as  my  aunt  entered ;  she  had  not  time  to  accomplish  her 
purpose  before  the  arms  of  the  latter  were  round  her.  As  for 
us  we  fell  upon  our  cousin  in  a  phalanx,  so  that  it  was  a 
wonder  how  she  stood  the  charge.  It  was  quite  dusk,  we 
could  only  see  each  other's  faces  by  the  fitful  light  of  the 
wood-fire,  as  we  stood  tugging  away  at  Emily's  bonnet, 
cloak,  boa,  and  gloves,  and  meeting  Avith  a  good  deal  of 
quiet  resistance,  though  she  seemed  very  tired  and  incapable 
of  active  demonstration  of  any  kind.  Wlien  Roger  had  suc- 
ceeded in  taking  off  her  bonnet,  after  nearly  throttling  her, 
and  Arthur  had  dispossessed  her  of  her  cloak,  we  saw  a  tall, 
very  slight  girl,  with  a  profusion  of  auburn  hair  that  hung, 
out  of  curl,  round  her  face,  and  almost  completely  hid  it. 
There  was  not  a  sound  from  the  sofa ;  the  sisters  lay  locked 
in  each  other's  arms  quite  silently,  and  we  instinctively  drew 
my  cousin  away  to  the  further  end  of  the  room.  Rose  holding 
one  hand,  I  the  other.  Had  she  liked  her  journey  ?  Had 
she  had  any  adventures  ?  "Was  she  hungry  ?  Had  she  given 
up  dolls  ?     (As  men  are  asked,  if  they  have  given  up  smok- 


24  RITA : 

ing  ?)  "What  sort  of  place  was  her  home  in  England  ?  Was 
it  like  —  the  Tuileries,  for  instance?  By-the-by,  did  she 
like  chocolate  ?  Roger  was  despatched  for  our  last  box,  and 
I  saw  my  father's  shadow  on  the  half-open  door  at  the  same 
moment.  As  he  entered  and  crossed  to  the  fireplace,  the 
light  fell  for  an  instant  on  his  face.  "Was  I  mistaken,  or  did 
it  seem  strangely  moved  ?  He  approached  Lady  Dacre,  hur- 
riedly, and  poured  forth  a  volley  of  common-places  about 
her  journey,  etc.,  in  a  nervous  manner,  as  it  seemed  to  me. 
It  made  a  strong  impression,  for  I  remember  I  left  the  re- 
mainder of  the  interrogatory  in  Rose's  hands,  and  sat  still 
and  listened.  My  aunt  answered  in  a  low  voice,  rather 
coldly  I  thought ;  immediately  afterwards  she  turned,  called 
us  to  her  and  kissed  us  kindly,  while  my  father  continued, 

"I  have  taken  apartments  for  you  at  the  '  Bristol,'  my  dear 
Lady  Dacre,  and  I  hope  you  will  like  them.  Unfortunately 
Lady  Aylesford  has  the  best  suite,  or  3'ou  should  have  had 
them.  Comfortable  hotel ;  good  cuisine,  etc.  We  are  only 
so  sorry  we  have  n't  room  for  you  here." 

"  Thank  you.  We  shall  only  be  here  for  a  few  days, 
otherwise  the  '  Bristol '  would  be  too  expensive  an  hotel  for 
me.  I  am  anxious  to  get  on  to  Nice  before  the  very  cold 
weather." 

"  Sorry  to  hear  you  intend  running  away  from  us  so  soon 
—  not  your  own  health,  I  hope  ?  Ah  !  your  daughter's,  I 
forgot.  'Pon  my  soul  she 's  as  tall  as  you  are,  and  quite  the 
Grandisson  coloring,  I  see.  What  a  chevelure  !  You  must 
positively  bring  her  out  in  Paris  next  year.  She  will  create 
quite  a  sensation.     Fair  English  beauty  is  here  —  " 

"  My  daughter  is  no  beauty,  and  will  never  create  a  sen- 
sation, as  you  will  see  by  a  better  light.  Fortunately  it  is 
the  thing  I  least  desire  for  her.  But  she  is  tired  now,  and  we 
must  leave  you,  dear  Kate ;  besides,  it  is  not  fair  to  keep 
those  poor  horses.  We  shall  be  with  you  eai'ly  to-morrow, 
and  I  shall  call  upon  my  nieces  to  do  the  honors  of  Paris  to 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  25 

US.  Come,  Emmy,  put  on  your  cloak.  Good-by,  my 
dears."  And  a  minute  afterwards  they  were  gone.  My 
father  now  conducted  them  to  the  door  of  the  carriage,  and 
stood  bowing  gracefully  as  the  postilions  cracked  their  Avhips 
once  more  and  sent  up  the  mud  into  his  indignant  face.  I 
stood  w^ondei'ing  and  musing  by  the  window  for  nearly  an 
hour  afterwards. 

Thus  began  my  acquaintance,  though  not  my  affection 
for,  or  real  knowledge  of,  my  aunt  Mary.  It  was  a  hard 
character  to  read.  Few  guessed  that  a  warm  heart  beat 
beneath  that  cold  exterior,  for  there  were  depths  in  it  that 
the  world  knew  not,  but  where  the  sun  lay  always.  I  was 
afraid  of  her  at  first.  Her  grave,  severe  expression  of  face, 
and  the  way  in  which  her  faded  eyes  looked  through  and 
through  one  as  she  spoke,  made  me  uncomfortable.  She 
had,  moreover,  the  lines  of  a  bad  temper,  or  of  some  heavy 
sorrow  written  about  her  mouth  and  brow.  I  thought  the 
former  (like  the  Avorld).  How  differently  I  learnt,  in  time, 
to  judge  this  noble  woman.  Emily  was  as  unlike  her  as 
possible ;  her  mother  had  said  truly  that  she  was  no  beauty, 
nor  was  she  ever  to  me  very  interesting,  though  the  freckles 
I  remembered  as  a  child  had  been  succeeded  by  a  brilliant 
hectic  flush  that  accounted  only  too  well  for  her  mother's 
anxiety,  and  made  her  very  nearly  a  pretty  girl.  But  she 
was  so  remarkably  childish  for  her  age  (and  yet  more  for 
her  height),  so  feeble  and  common-place  in  mind  to  be  the 
daughter  of  my  lofty  aunt,  and  the  only  child  on  whom  she 
lavished  all  her  care,  that  it  was  a  puzzle  to  me  then,  though 
I  now  know  that  it  is  no  uncommon  thin":  for  the  greatest 
pains  in  education  to  produce  very  poor  results.  It  is  true 
she  told  me  herself  that  she  had  learnt  the  Latin  grammar, 
and  had  Magnal's  questions  by  heart ;  had  been  through 
quadrations  (whatever  that  may  be),  and  knew  the  names 
of  all  the  rivers  in  North  and  South  America,  and  I  forget 
how  much  besides ;  yet  I  failed  to  trace  the  elevating  influ- 


26  RITA : 

» 

ence  of  all  this  learning,  at  the  same  time  that  I  felt  my  own 
ignorance  the  more.  I  had  long  ceased  to  take  an  interest 
in  doll's  feasts,  and  here  was  Emily,  my  senior  by  a  year, 
entering  into  all  Rose's  games  with  a  zest  for  which  I  could 
not  help  entertaining  a  secret  contempt.  It  humbled  me  to 
think  that,  spite  of  my  fancied  superiority,  she  knew  so 
much  more  than  I  did,  and  my  mortification  reached  its  cul- 
minating point  a  few  days  after  the  arrival  of  my  new  rela- 
tions. 

During  these  few  days  my  curiosity  had  been  kept  per- 
petually awake  to  the  strange  position  Lady  Dacre  assumed 
in   our   tiimily.     Silently,  apparently  without   an    effort,  it 
seemed  to  be  accepted  throughout  the  house,  that  her  will 
should  be  law.     Naturally  an   acute  observer,  I  could  not 
help  remarking  that  my  father  never   was  at  ease  in  her 
presence.     His  manners  towards  her  were  obsequious,  but 
so  forced  and  overdone  that  I  always  felt  relieved  when  one 
or  other  left  the  room.     On  my  aunt's  side,  the  chilling  re- 
serve, habitual  to  her  in  general  society,  but  which  thawed 
at  once  with  those  she  loved,  she  never  broke  through  with 
my  father.     You  can  hardly  fancy  any  thing  so  uncomforta- 
ble as  seeing  these  two   people   together,  each  of  whom  I 
knew  could  be  so  different,  and  would  be  so,  when  the  other 
left  the"  room.     Yet,   strange   to  say,  the  second   morning 
after  her  arrival,  I  knew  perfectly  well  that  she  was  closet- 
ed with  him  in  his  dressing-room   for  nearly  half  an  hour. 
Later  in  the  day,  Avhen  they  met  in  the  drawing-room,  there 
was  no  change  perceptible  in  their  separate  demeanors  — 
the  same  servility  on  one  side,  the  same  freezing  laconisni 
on  the  other.     But  there  were  other  changes   in  my  father 
far  more  important  than  that  of  his  manner  (which  I  confess 
I  hardly  thought  an  improvement  on  his  ordinary  off-hand 
style,  highly  seasoned  though  it  sometimes  was).     We  were 
no  longer  disturbed  from  our  sleep  by  his  return  home  at 
three  and  four  in  the  morning ;  he  seldom  went  out  at  night, 


AN   AUTOBIOGRArHY.  27 

and  wore  the  semblance,  at  least,  of  a  respectable  domestic 
character.  That  my  aunt's  presence  had  wrought  this 
change  I  could  not  doubt ;  but  how  ?  I  soon  saw  that  one 
of  her  first  objects  was  to  find  out  all  she  could  of  our  inte- 
rior economy ;  the  nursery,  the  kitchen,  the  wardrobe,  noth- 
ing escaped  her,  and  very  singular  discoveries  I  have  no 
doubt  she  made.  For  she  met  with  no  obstacles ;  on  the 
contrary,  every  facility  was  afforded  her  of  probing  silently 
and  skilfully,  as  she  did,  all  the  hidden  wounds  of  the  estab- 
lishment. My  father,  indeed,  knew  little  enough  about 
them ;  had  he  done  so,  perhaps  his  pride  might  have  led 
him  to  endeavor  to  conceal  them  from  the  searching  eye  of 
his  sister-in-law.  As  for  my  mother,  she  seemed  to  lean 
with  implicit  confidence  and  affection  upon  her  strong 
minded  sister ;  there  is  nothing,  I  am  sure,  she  would  have 
concealed  from  her,  and  many  were  the  long  hours  they 
passed  together,  seldom  conversing  of  the  past,  I  suspect, 
but  rather  of  the  complexities  of  the  present  and  the  future. 
A  wet  afternoon  —  the  boys  away  at  their  daily  school  — 
Emily  and  Rose  buried  in  a  corner  of  the  drawing-room, 
exchanging  confidences  in  state  whispers  —  my  aunt  and 
mother  together  and  alone  in  the  adjoining  room.  A 
French  novel  had  fallen  into  my  hands  that  morning,  having 
been  left  on  the  table  by  my  f;ither  the  night  before.  This 
was  the  only  literature  he  affected ;  and  when  he  was  out, 
I  knew  I  might,  with  safety,  possess  myself  of  a  volume. 
Accoi'dingly,  with  the  one  in  question  under  my  arm,  I 
slipped  out  of  the  i-oom,  and  ran  into  the  nursery,  now  cold 
and  deserted,  for  the  fire  had  gone  out.  I  sat  down  by  the 
window  with  the  book  upon  my  knee.  In  the  morning  I 
had  but  dipped  into  its  pages,  now  I  became  absorbed :  it 
was  deeply,  terribly  exciting,  beyond  any  thing  I  had  yet 
perused  —  no  matter  that  I  did  not  understand  two  thirds  of 
its  insidious  immorality.  The  heroine  was  a  married  lady, 
a  giddy  sort  of  person,  but  tossed  upon  such  a  perfect  sea 


28  RITA : 

of  troubles,  poor  thing,  that  I  felt  very  much  interested  in 
her  fate.  I  had  a  dim  apprehension  that  she  had  better  not 
meet  her  husband's  friend  quite  so  often,  at  uncertain  hours 
of  the  night.  There  were  long  passages,  too,  about  "  Fame 
pure  "  and  "  I'union  sympathique  des  cojurs,"  that  I  skipped, 
because  I  found  them  dull ;  but  tlie  story  itself,  ah !  that 
was  cunningly  and  thrillingly  told !  incidents  threaded  on 
close  and  thick,  like  beads  —  a  murder,  a  mystery,  a  dis- 
closure, a  false  marriage,  another  murder  —  all  so  wrought 
up,  that  my  blood  ran  hot  and  cold  by  turns.  How  long  I 
had  been  reading  I  know  not :  the  thick  gray  evening  was 
closing  in,  and  I  had  to  press  my  head  against  the  spattered 
window-pane,  to  catch  the  fading  light,  upon  my  book.  So 
absorbed  was  I,  that  I  did  not  hear  the  door  open.  I 
started,  and  almost  screamed  with  terror,  when  a  hand  was 
laid  upon  my  shoulder.  An  involuntary  impulse  made  me 
scramble  the  book  into  my  pocket  as  I  turned  round  and 
met  my  aunt's  kind,  but  grave  face  bent  over  me. 

"  Why  are  you  here  all  alone,  Rita,  in  this  cold  room  ? 
Rose  and  Emmy  ai'e  in  the  drawing-room  —  don't  you  like 
playing  with  them  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

"  Reading." 

"  I  am  glad  to  find  you  are  so  fond  of  readuig ;  but  it  is 
getting  too  dark  now,  so  sit  down  and  talk  to  me.  What 
sort  of  books  do  you  like  best  ?  " 

"  Amusing  books  —  interesting,  I  mean." 

"  Stories,.  I  suppose  —  ghost  stories,  or  fairy  tales  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  (contemptuously)  ;  real  things  —  and  horrible  — 
I  like  the  most  horrible  ones  best." 

"  Then  the  book  I  saw  you  reading,  as  I  entered,  was  a 
true  story.     Will  you  tell  me  what  it  was  about  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  I  don't  know  that  it's  true.  I  meant  books  about 
real  men  and  women  —  not  ghosts  and  that  sort  of  nonsense, 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  29 

that  is  told  to  frighten  children.  (Twelve-and-a-quarter 
fancied  itself  a  woman.)  Do  you  ever  read  French  novels, 
aunt?" 

"  No  ;  I  suppose  you  have.     Is  that  one  ? " 

"  Yes ;  I  find  one  sometimes,  when  papa  is  out,  on  the 
table.  Mamma  says  I  oughtn't  to  read  them,  she's  sure; 
but,  then,  as  mamma  doesn't  read  French,  I  don't  see  how 
she  can  tell.  And  then,  I've  got  nothing  but  stupid  old 
books  I  know  by  heart.  Every  Sunday  I  read  Dr.  Home's 
'  Life  of  Abel,'  to  mamma,  and  I  have  been  through  it  three 
times,  and  I  don't  see  what  is  the  good  of  reading  the  best 
book  over  and  over  again." 

"  Would  you  mind  letting  me  see  this  book  ? "  said  my 
aunt,  holding  out  her  hand. 

I  pulled  it  from  my  pocket,  and  gave  it  her.  She  drew 
closer  to  the  window,  and  bent  her  head  over  the  fly-leaf, 
till  it  almost  touched  the  paper.  I  watched  her  countenance, 
but  could  make  notliing  of  it.  Presently  she  left  the  win- 
dow, and  said  abruptly, 

"  The  little  I  have  seen  of  you  makes  me  think  you  are  a 
sensible  girl,  with  some  natural  ability,  and  good  reasoning 
faculties,  which  are  more  valuable  still.  Above  all,  I  like 
your  frankness  about  the  book.  I  should  not  have  pressed 
the  question,  I  assure  yon.  Now  I  am  going  to  be  equally 
frank  with  you.  This  book  I  know  well  by  name:  it  is  a 
bad  book,  though  you  may  not  think  so  ;  one  I  would  not  let 
Emily  read  for  the  world.  All  the  evil  it  contains  you  are 
not  capable  of  understanding  now :  how  soon  you  might  do 
so,  I  cannot  tell ;  for  you  are  beyond  your  age  in  some 
things,  though  sadly  behind  in  most.  Your  ignorance  is 
greater  than  that  of  many  children  of  seven  years  old.  (I 
told  you  I  should  be  frank.)  Do  you  know  this,  Rita  ?  and 
do  you  feel  the  importance  of  education  ?  the  desire  to 
improve  ?  My  dear  child,  I  am  aware  that  it  is  not  from 
any  fault   of  yours    that   you  are  so  backward.     I  do  not 


30  RITA : 

blame  you,  but  I  wish  you  to  feel  that  '  Knowledge  is 
Power,'  as  the  old  copy  says ;  though  in  fact,  it  is  the  use 
we  make  of  knowledge,  in  maturing  our  judgment  and 
reflection,  that  is  power,  and  not  knowledge  itself,  if  we 
cannot  turn  it  to  account ;  for  many  learned  men  have  been 
but  poor  thinkers  and  reasoners.  That  is  not,  however, 
what  I  was  going  to  say.  To  you,  education  is  especially 
important.     Do  you  know  why  ?  " 

"  Because  I  am  the  eldest,  to  begin  with." 

"  Just  so :  because  your  father  is  very  poor,  and  you  must 
learn,  in  order  to  teach  your  sister  and  your  brothers.  You 
may  be  of  the  greatest  service  to  them :  indeed,  who  knows 
but  that  their  future  may,  in  a  measure,  depend  on  you, 
besides  your  own  success  and  happiness  in  after  life,  when 
you  may  have  to  struggle  through  the  world  alone  ?  French 
novels  never  assisted  any  one  to  do  so.  Will  you  promise 
me  not  to  read  one  again,  for  the  next  six  years,  if  I  under- 
take to  provide  you  with  books  ?  You  shall  have  plenty,  so 
there  will  be  no  longer  that  plea,  and  there  will  also  be 
some  one  to  superintend  your  reading,  and  whom,  I  hope 
you  may  learn  to  regard  not  as  a  governess,  but  a  friend." 

I  threw  my  arms  around  her  neck,  and  thanked  her  with 
what  eloquence  I  could  command  at  the  moment.  My  tears 
ran  down  my  cheeks,  as  I  assured  her  I  felt  too  proud  of 
her  good  opinion  not  to  promise  much  more  than  she  asked. 
My  aunt  seemed  pleased,  and  said  she  should  make  imme- 
diate arrangements  with  an  English  lady  she  knew  to  come 
to  us  daily  in  the  capacity  of  governess.  She  hoped  I 
should  work  very  hard  to  make  up  for  lost  time. 

It  would  have  been  difficult  for  me  to  do  otherwise,  under 
Miss  Lateward's  system.  Fortunately,  I  was  strong;  and 
di:^posed,  as  much  from  real  thirst  for  the  springs  that  had 
hitherto  been  denied  me,  as  from  vanity,  and  the  desire  of 
satisfying  my  aunt's  expectations,  to  study  eight  or  nine 
hours  a  day.     But  poor  Rose,  after  the  first  week,  gave  way  ^ 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  31 

completely ;  neither  her  health  nor  spirits  would  stand  the 
long  hours  of  confinement  and  attention,  and  the  day's  les- 
sons always  came  to  an  abrupt  close  with  a  headache  and  a 
fit  of  crying.  Miss  Lateward  did  not  understand  such  things 
as  nerves,  tears,  and  headaches.  She  thought  Rose  spoilt 
(as,  indeed,  she  was  by  my  mother),  frivolous  —  and  how 
was  it  to  be  expected  she  should  be  otherwise,  with  her 
beauty,  and  brought  up  as  she  had  been?  —  deceitful  and 
afiected  —  which  she  never  was.  My  harder  nature  suited 
Miss  Lateward  much  better ;  and  my  desire  for  knowledge, 
with  an  indefatigable  power  of  questioning,  enabled  her  to 
be  oracular,  which  she  liked.  She  was  a  person  of  the  most 
solid  attainments,  and  the  soundest  theology ;  the  opposite, 
in  short,  of  all  I  had  been  accustomed  to  see  and  hear,  in 
superficial  Paris.  Every  useful  and  legitimate  subject  of 
information,  from  Parliament  to  pin-making,  received,  in 
turn,  a  due  share  of  attention  at  her  hands ;  and,  as  far  as 
information  went,  she  was  complete  in  it,  and  downright. 
"When  she  had  spoken,  you  knew  all  about  it,  and  nothing 
remained  to  be  said.  If  it  was  a  moot-point  (as  would  occur 
sometimes  in  reading  history),  or  a  case  in  which  acute  dis- 
crimination and  a  careful  balance  of  judgment  were  requisite, 
her  opinion  seldom  satisfied  me.  Remarkable  in  her  was 
the  absence  of  all  imagination  and  humor,  a  disregard  of  the 
graces  and  flowers  of  life,  and  a  love  of  depriving  even  his- 
tory of  its  legends,  and  the  poetry  that  clings  to  it.  Yet  we 
were  soon  fast  friends ;  for  it  was  impossible  to  know  her 
long  and  not  feel  a  respect  for  the  conscientious  manner  in 
which  she  fulfilled  all  her  duties  by  us,  the  scrupulous  jus- 
tice Avith  which  she  measured  to  us  praise  or  blame,  and  the 
general  consistency  and  faithfulness  of  her  character.  If  she 
lacked  that  delicacy  of  perception,  which  is  a  sixth  sense, 
that  penetration  into  character  which  every  leader,  whether 
of  minds  or  armies,  should  have,  she  possessed  another  qual- 
ity that  was  invaluable  in  our  family,  that  of  prudence.    She 


> 


32  RITA : 

^  had  eyes,  and  saw  not ;  ears  had  she,  and  heard  not.  I 
never  could  tell  how  much  she  knew  of  what  went  on  in  the 
house ;  about  the  strange  scenes  of  which  she  was  often  an 
involuntary  witness  she  never  threw  out  question  or  obser- 
vation. 1  am  inclined  now  to  think  that  this  quality,  more 
than  any  other,  decided  my  aunt  in  her  choice  of  Miss  Late- 
ward  as  our  governess ;  she  had  known  her  long,  and  saw 
how  necessaiy  certain  characteristics  were  for  the  position 
she  was  to  hold ;  and  Miss  Lateward  had  these,  in  which 
many  more  accomplished  governesses  might  have  been 
wanting. 

My  aunt  left  Paris  very  soon  afterwards ;  but  she  prom- 
ised, upon  her  return  in  the  spring,  to  spend  a  month  there. 
I  took  to  my  studies,  firmly  resolved  to  astonish  her  by  un- 
heard-of progress  during  her  absence.  The  ambition  that 
had  long  slumbered  in  me  was  now  kindled ;  it  supplied  a 
motive  to  exertion,  and  concentrated  my  energies  on  one 
point.  I  had  no  lack  of  self-confidence ;  I  would  shine ;  I 
would  no  longer  be  called  "  ignorant,"  but  more  than  justify 
my  aunt's  expectations.  And  musing  thus,  in  my  nursery 
corner,  with  my  elbows  on  my  knees,  and  the  empii-e  of 
Eome  between  them,  I  pressed  the  fingers  tighter  in  my 
ears,  and  bent  down  with  the  determination  of  a  Caesar  to 
conquer  every  difficulty. 

The  six  months  passed  rapidly  in  my  new  course  of  life. 
I  was  less  than  ever  in  the  drawing-room,  and  never  saw 
any  of  the  visitors  my  mother  received  in  the  afternoon, 
though  Rose  was  generally  sent  for.  In  short,  when  Miss 
Lateward  was  not  with  us  I  was  allowed,  as  formerly,  to  do 
very  much  as  I  liked ;  and  often  instead  of  going  out  with 
my  brothers  and  sifter,  I  stole  down  to  old  Barac's  apart- 
ment, and  revisited  my  friends,  the  Rembrandts  and  Gerard 
Dows.  Between  these  and  my  books  the  short  gray  days 
went  swiftly  by;  and  this  world  of  my  own  in  which  I  had 
be^un  to  live  rendered  me  very  happy,  and  almost  indiflfer- 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  33 

ent  to  the  many  little  troubles  of  our  inquiet  home.  The 
unexplained  influence  for  good  which  my  aunt  had  exercised 
over  my  father  passed  away,  alas!  with  her  presence.  I 
seldom  saw  him;  I  never  willingly  witnessed  the  scenes 
that  often  agitated  ray  mother ;  but  Rose  would  run  in  and 
whisper,  "  Poor  mamma  is  crying,  and  there 's  some  man 
out  there  —  an  ugly,  dirty  fellow,  who  wants  something,  and 
papa  is  so  angry,  so  dreadfully  angry,  it  made  me  quite 
tremble.  What  can  it  be  all  about,  Ritey  ?  " 
So  passed  the  winter. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"Not,"  said  Miss  Lateward,  "that  I  hold  with  those 
who  deem  dancing  to  be  a  reprehensible  relaxation  under 
certain  conditions.  Have  we  not  high  scriptural  authority 
for  it  ?  David  danced  before  the  ark ;  so  did  Miriam  and 
Jephthah's  daughter.  Allusions  are  made  to  it  as  a  legitimate 
expression  of  joyful  emotion  in  various  parts  of  the  Sacred 
Writings.  Ko,  my  dear  young  friend,  it  is  not  to  the  use, 
in  moderation,  but  to  the  abuse  of  it  that  I  direct  my  obser- 
vations." (Here  she  looked  very  hard  across  the  table  at 
Rose.)  "  When  it  ministers  to  the  vanity  and  absorbs  the 
thoughts  both  beforehand  and  afterwards,  it  is  never  suffi- 
ciently to  be  reprehended." 

The  event  that  gave  occasion  to  this  peroration  was  a  chil- 
dren's ball  at  the  Tuileries,  to  which  my  father  took  Rose 
and  me.  Some  fine  ladies  had  made  him  promise  to  bring 
"  his  beautiful  little  girl,"  and  so  I  was  to  accompany  her, 
though  much  against  my  inclination.  I  was  pale,  and  my 
eyes  red  in  consequence  of  the  little  exercise  I  had  taken 
lately,  and  my  father  declared  he  was  "  ashamed  to  be  seen 
with  such  a  white-faced  fright,"  v^'hich  I  found  to  be  perfectly 
true  when  he  left  me  alone  on  the  scai'let  benches,  and  took 
Rose  round  to  all  his  aristocratic  friends.  She  soon  became 
the  centre  of  a  knot  of  youthful  partners  ;  two  of  the  young 
princes  danced  with  her,  and  the  queen  herself  complimented 
my  father  on  his  beautiful  child.  I  watched  her  for  some 
time  with  pride,  and  I  think  I  may  say  without  the  smallest 
touch  of  envy ;  but  I  felt  i-alher  lonely  and  deserted,  and 
(34) 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  35 

the  ball  seemed  to  me  mighty  dull,  and  that  there  were  a 
great  many  too  many  lights,  which  danced  before  my  eyes, 
until  in  spite  of  every  eflTort  I  fell  asleep. 

It  was  my  first  and  only  experience  in  juvenile  dissipa- 
tion. There  were  other  entertainments  given  for  the  youth- 
ful world  of  fashion,  to  some  of  which  Rose  went,  but  I  ob- 
stinately declined  them  all,  returning  to  my  books  with  even 
greater  assiduity  than  before.  Whether  wounded  vanity 
may  not  have  been  a  better  governess  than  Miss  Lateward 
in  stimulating  my  exertions,  I  leave  the  reader  to  deternaine. 
The  pleasure  Rose  took  in  her  little  toilette  arrangements 
beforehand,  and  her  excitement  and  garrulity  afterwards, 
joined  to  the  impossibility  of  getting  her  to  sit  down  to  her 
book  the  whole  of  the  next  day,  caused  Miss  Lateward  to 
deliver  herself  of  many  a  thorny  didactic  sentence  like  the 
one  I  have  quoted. 

In  May  the  Dacres  returned  to  Paris.  Emily's  health 
was  improved,  and  they  were  to  spend  the  summer  in  Eng- 
land. Our  meeting  was  a  very  happy  one.  My  aunt  was 
pleased  to  find  the  progress  I  had  made  in  my  studies, 
though  she  was  shocked  to  see  how  pale  and  thin  I  was 
grown. 

"  She  must  have  change  of  air,"  said  my  aunt,  turning  to 
my  mother. 

The  latter  shook  her  head.  "  Impossible,  my  dear.  Per- 
cival  goes  to  London  next  week,  on  business  "  (a  sigh),  "and 
we  cannot  afford  to  go  to  Auteuil  as  we  did  last  year.  There 
is  no  hope  for  it.  Indeed,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I  prefer 
our  own  apartment,  when  I  can  be  quiet,  you  know,  to  the 
trouble  of  going  into  strange  houses,  where  one  has  n't  one's 
own  things  about  one  ;  and  then  the  children,  and  alto- 
gether —  " 

So  my  aunt  determined  that  Rose  and  I,  under  Miss 
Lateward's  charge,  should  accompany  her  to  Boulogne, 
where  she  had  been  advised  to  take  Emily  for  a  few  weeks 


36  KITA : 

before  returning  home.  My  mother  was  dehghted  with  the 
idea  on  all  accounts.  I  was  delighted  to  get  anywhere  away 
from  the  feverish  streets  in  this  hot  spring  time,  and  to  be 
with  my  aunt.  Rose  was  delighted  with  the  idea  of  a  change, 
and  the  prospect  of  Emily's  society.  Every  one  was  well 
pleased,  and  an  early  day  was  named  for  our  departure. 
Before  that  event,  however,  the  family  spirits  experienced 
another  unexpected  "  rise  ;  "  though  I  was  less  elated  in  con- 
sequence of  a  little  circumstance  that  preceded  it. 

My  father  had  been  more  gloomy  and  preoccupied  of  late 
than  I  had  ever  seen  him.  He  appeared  now  to  avoid  my 
aunt,  and  I  suppose  the  salutary  or  restraining  effect  of  her 
first  visit  had  passed  away,  for  he  was  out  night  after  night, 
and  when  she  was  of  our  party  he  hardly  ever  even  dined 
at  home. 

One  morning  my  mother  sent  me  into  her  bedroom  to  look 
for  something  in  a  wardrobe  that  stood  near  my  father's 
dressing-room  door.  While  I  was  yet  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  I  could  hear  his  voice,  through  that  door,  si^eaking 
rapidly,  and  apparently  with  great  earnestness.  I  ap- 
proached the  wardrobe  and  began  my  search.  Another  voice 
answered,  and  this  time  it  was  so  clear  and  distinct  that  I 
could  not  avoid  hearing  whole  sentences.  The  speaker  was 
my  aunt. 

"  Oblige  me.  Colonel  Percival,  by  not  alluding  to  the 
past.     Let  bygones  he  bygones,  if  you  please  —  I  did  not 

come  here  to  listen And  the  recollection,  you  cannot 

suppose  is  flattering  or  agreeable  to  me.  We  will  return  to 
the  question  of  the  present  and  the  future,  if  you  please. 
I  ask  you  again,  what  is  your  position  now  ?  and  how  have 
you  kept  your  promise  ?  You  are  mistaken  if  you  suppose 
I  shall  continue  to  supply  you  with  the  means  of  indulging 
your  vicious  habits.  I  was  weak  enough  to  believe  you.  I 
thought  you  were  really  anxious  to  lead  a  new  life,  and  lift 
up  your  head  amongst  honest  men.     While  your  children 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  37 

have  been  almost  wanting  the  necessaries  of  life,  how  has 
this  money  been  applied  ?  Percival,  if  you  persist  in  this 
course  you  will  bring  down  God's  wrath  upon  you.  IS^ot 
alone  Avill  your  family  be  reduced  to  beggary — far,  far 
worse  than  that !  The  disgraceful,  shameless  hfe  you  are 
leading " 

"  Mary  !  —  Lady  Dacre,  hear  me !  You  do  not  know  — 
I  can  explain " 

"  Stop,  Percival !  do  not  attempt  to  explain.  1  know  more 
than  you  are  aivare  of,  I  had  nearly  said  all,  but  who  can  say 
they  know  all  the  sin  and  folly  one  man  is  capable  of  com- 
mitting ?  Do  not  add  to  it  by  trying  to  deceive  me  further. 
I  tell  you  frankly,  I  have  lost  all  hope  in  you.  I  had  the 
folly  to  nurture  some,  a  few  months  back  —  worse  than  folly, 
as  I  now  see,  for  you  have  sunk  instead  of  risen  since  then. 
I  pray  God  to  bring  you  to  a  better  sense,  for  He  alone  can 
tlo  it  —  to  make  you  amend  your  ways  ere  it  be  too  late. 
Any  words  of  mine  must  be  weak  and  powerless,  they  were 
so  in  that  '  long  ago '  to  which  you  have  referred  —  doubly 
so,  now.  For  you,  therefore,  individually,  I  will  do  nothing 
further.  The  consequences  of  your  sins  fall  on  your  own 
head  !  Henceforward,  what  I  do  shall  be  for  my  poor  sister 
and  your  children  only.     Your  eldest  girl,  Rita " 

But  I  had  already  heard  too  much.  I  had  really  not 
intended  to  listen :  but  the  intense  interest  of  that  conver- 
sation, which  came  so  clearly  through  the  door  in  the  excited 
voices  of  the  speakers,  had  made  me  completely  forget  myself, 
and  the  fact  that  I  was  standing  before  the  open  wardrobe, 
motionless.  The  sound  of  my  own  name  suddenly  startled 
me  into  a  recollection  of  the  unworthy  part  I  was  playing  ; 
my  brain  throbbed,  my  cheek  burned  —  I  turned  and  fled 
from  the  room.  I  buried  my  head  in  my  pillow.  "  Not  alone 
will  your  family  be  reduced  to  beggary,  far,  far  worse  than 
that !  "  the  words  rang  in  my  ears.  I  believe,  were  I  to  tell 
you  all  my  thoughts,  you  would  think  them  strange  ones  for 


38  RITA: 

a  mere  cliikl,  as  I  still  was.  But  my  childhood  —  if  I  can 
be  said  ever  to  have  had  one  —  was  already  gone  from  me. 
That  blissful  ignorance  of  self —  that  frank  and  joyous  con- 
fidence in  every  thing  around  —  that  bounding  exuberance 
of  spirit  that  should  belong,  and  can  belong  only  to  life's  first 
Olympiad  —  these  had  withered  in  the  damp  and  sunless 
atmosphere  of  our  home,  long,  long  ago  ;  but  now  the  shadow 
of  the  future,  like  a  hand,  seemed  weighing  on  my  brow.  I 
had  eaten  of  the  tree  of  knowledge,  and  the  fruit  thereof 
was  bitter  :  not  alone  in  that  hour,  but  in  many  a  subsequent 
one,  sharp  and  acid  did  the  taste  remain.  There  were  mo- 
ments, indeed,  when  I  cared  not  for  any  thing  or  anybody ; 
when,  my  heart  turning  as  it  were  to  stone,  I  said  that 
out  of  that  very  material  would  I  hew  and  set  up  a  wall 
between  the  world  and  myself  But  the  next  minute  I 
remembered  my  true-hearted  and  noble  aunt,  towards  whom 
I  was  beginning  to  feel  all  the  enthusiastic  love  of  a  lower 
nature  for  a  loftier  one,  with  which  it  can,  nevertheless, 
sympathize  ;  and  a  better  frame  of  mind  came,  though  some- 
thing of  this  indurating  quality,  perhajjs,  characterized  me 
thenceforward. 

The  door  of  my  father's  dressing-room  remained  closed 
until  dinner-time,  when  he  came  out,  scrupulously  dressed, 
and  in  uncommonly  brilliant  spirits.  He  dined  at  home,  and 
my  aunt  Avas  there ;  and  I  could  perceive  no  trace  of  that 
agitating  interview  in  the  manner  of  either.  My  mother,  too, 
seemed  so  happy  and  tranquil,  that  I  began  to  wonder  whether 
it  were  possible  that  I  had  dreampt  it  all.  Presently  my  father 
called  Ernest  to  him,  and  asked  him  Avhether  he  shouldn't 
like  very  much  to  go  to  a  bis:  school  in  England  —  lots  of 
boys,  and  plenty  of  fun  ?  Ernest  responded  by  taking  a 
somersault  (such  as  he  had  seen  lately  at  Franconi's,  and 
had  been  practising  ever  since),  and  alighted  with  his  head 
on  the  fender.  The  pain,  I  am  sure,  must  have  been  great; 
but,  under  the  circumstances,  Ernest  would  have  died  sooner 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  39 

than  utter  a  sound  :  so  as  soon  as  the  commotion  caused  by 
this  little  incident  had  passed  away,  my  fother  pi'oceeded  to 
explain  that  he  intended  taking  him  over  to  England  with 
him  in  a  few  days :  his  aunt  had  been  kind  enough  to  find  a 
school,  where  he  would  be  very  happy,  and  where  she  could 
occasionally  come  and  see  him ;  and  his  long  holidays  he 
should  certainly  spend  at  home.  The  boy  was  wild  with 
delight,  and  very  nearly  performed  another  acrobatic  feat, 
but  recollections  of  the  last  restrained  him.  Home  had, 
indeed,  long  been  too  tame  for  his  high  spirit ;  he  had  no 
companions  of  his  own  age  and  strength,  and  lorded  it  over 
his  little  twin-brothers  and  Rose,  and  such  of  the  household 
as  would  submit  to  his  authority,  like  a  true  tyrant  as  he 
was.  Among  the  number  I  never  enrolled  myself.  The 
contest  between  us  Avas  often  renewed ;  on  his  side  physical 
strength  (not  unfrequently  a  word  or  a  blow),  on  mine  the 
weight  of  nearly  three  years'  seniority,  an  obstinacy  fully 
equal  to  his  own,  and  the  set-off  of  a  manner  far  beyond  my 
age,  which  especially  irritated  him,  for,  as  he  said,  "  that  girl, 
Rita,  gives  herself  the  airs  of  a  grown-up  woman  ! "  And 
yet  I  loved  him ;  only  it  was  somewhat  as  I  might  have  loved 
a  pet  young  tiger,  of  whom,  even  in  its  most  sportive  mo- 
ments, one  may  be  supposed  to  feel  some  latent  mistrust  and 
apprehension.  We  had  latterly  been  the  best  friends  ;  our 
dominions,  since  the  arrival  of  Miss  Lateward,  were  sepa- 
rated :  he  went  to  his  daily  school  and  I  saw  little  of  him ; 
my  father  often  making  him  his  companion  at  times  and 
places  when  he  would  certainly  have  been  better  elsewhere. 
I  felt,  therefore,  in  common  with  the  rest  of  the  family, 
rejoiced  at  the  idea  of  his  leaving  home ;  where,  from  having 
his  own  way,  and  with  the  force  of  bad  example,  he  must 
soon  be  completely  spoilt. 

"  It  is  high  time,"  —  Betsy  is  the  speaker  —  "  that  Master 
ITcrnest  should  'ave  some  manners-like,  and  'havior  put  into 
him." 


40  liiTA : 

"  He  is  almost  getting  too  much  for  me,"  sighed  my 
mother,  over  a  pair  of  rent  garments,  and  wondered  who 
there  would  be  to  mend  them  for  him  at  school. 

We  left  Paris  three  days  afterwards.  My  father  and 
Ernest  were  to  start  for  England  the  following  week  ;  thus 
my  mother  would  be  left  alone  with  the  twins  ;  but  when  I 
pointed  this  out  to  her,  she  assured  me  that  she  considered 
it  quite  a  holiday,  and  looked  forward  to  this  season  of 
respite  as  much  as  we  did  to  our  sea-side  trip.  So  we 
kissed  her,  without  more  repining,  and  as  our  carriage  rolled 
away,  my  father  took  off  his  hat  with  a  most  gentlemanlike 
grace,  which  Ernest  imitated ;  then  my  father  stretched  his 
arms  and  lit  a  cigar,  which  as  Ernest  could  n't  imitate,  and 
found  his  hands  in  his  way,  he  began  pelting  a  vendor  of 
lemonade  and  gavffres.  And  this  was  the  last  thing  I  saw, 
my  head  strained  out  of  window,  as  the  carnage  turned  a 
corner. 

Instead  of  one,  we  spent  three  very  happy  months  at 
Boulogne.  I  cannot  refrain  from  lingering  over  this  poi'tion 
of  my  early  life,  for  many  years  were  to  elapse  before  I 
again  enjoyed  so  wise  and  peaceful  and  happy  an  existence, 
as  far  removed  from  "  that  unrest  which  men  miscall  de- 
hght,"  as  our  walks  on  the  ribbed  sea-sand  from  the  hot 
j)avements  of  the  noisy  city.  Here,  too,  I  learnt  more 
of  the  depth  and  loftiness  of  my  aunt's  noble  character, 
which  was,  in  reality,  known  to  so  few,  even  of  her  own 
family,  though  all  felt  its  influence ;  like  those  mountain- 
tams,  enveloped  in  cold  mists,  that  only  descend  by  secret 
channels  to  refresh  the  plains  below.  Her  wisdom  was  of  a 
nature  that  has  been  admirably  described  by  a  modern 
writer  as  "that  exercise  of  the  reason  into  which  the  heart 
enters,  a  structui'e  of  the  understanding  rising  out  of  the 
moral  and  spiritual  nature;"  her  knowledge  was  an  in- 
tuition, enlarged  by  suffering  and  experience.  So  pene- 
trating an  insight  into  the  minds  of  others  I  have  never 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  41 

since  met  in  any  woman.  Her  opinions  were  sometimes 
severe ;  but  it  was  the  expression  of  a  mind  which  had  no 
sympathy  with  the  little  and  common-place,  and  expected, 
perhaps,  too  much  from  poor  erring  human  nature.  In 
proportion  to  my  knowledge  of  her  grew  the  influence  she 
exercised  over  me.  I  wondered  that  I  should  ever  have 
felt  repulsed  at  her  cold  manner ;  they  seemed  to  me  a  part 
of  her ;  I  would  not  have  exchanged  them  for  the  warmth 
of  more  impulsive  natures.  I  had  felt  the  heat  of  the 
inward  fire,  and  knew  that  the  spirit  burned  no  less  brightly 
for  all  the  lamp  that  held  it  was  of  alabaster. 

Lady  Dacre  had  a  strong  memory  and  affection  for  the 
lays  of  that  border-minstrelsy,  among  which  she  had  hved 
so  long  in  her  northern  home  ;  and  she  fostered  in  me  a 
love  of  these  fine,  soul-stirring  old  ballads,  full  of  chivalry 
and  elevation  of  sentiment.  My  delight,  when  we  walked 
out  upon  the  distant  pier,  was  to  get  her  to  repeat  one  of 
these,  or  some  of  the  proud  passages  in  her  family  histoiy — 
gallant  sieges  and  defences,  rescues,  and  the  like  —  while 
the  echo  of  our  feet  over  the  hollow  wood  seemed  to  me 
like  the  tramp  of  warhorses  in  battle.  With  what  pride 
did  she  warm  in  the  recital !  Sometimes,  in  a  fervor  of 
enthusiasm,  I  longed  to  have  been  a  man,  and  to  have  lived 
and  fought  in  those  days ;  and  then  my  aunt  would  say, 
gravely,  "  Ah  !  dear  child,  you  will  learn  that  life  has  still 
its  battles  for  every  one  of  us,  and  harder  to  be  won  than 
these  ! "  But  I  was  not  always  in  so  belligerent  a  frame  of 
mind.  As  we  sat  on  the  sand  of  an  evening,  and  watched 
the  sun  dip  down  into  the  sea,  scarcely  one  ripple  on  the 
water  and  not  a  cloud  upon  the  red-gold  sky,  I  said : 

"  A  fisherman's  life,  aunt,  must  be  a  pleasant  one,  with 
his  cottage  on  the  shore,  watching  the  beautiful  sunrise  and 
sunset  in  the  sea.  After  all,  I  think  I  should  like  to  be  a 
fisherman  as  well  as  any  thing." 

"  Have   you    thought   of    the   long,   cold,   hungry   days, 


42  RITA : 

watching  for  fish  that  won't  come  to  your  net  ?  —  the 
stormy  nights  at  sea,  Rita  ?  You  must  take  the  fisher- 
man's hard  life,  with  his  sunsets  and  his  cottage  on  the 
shore." 

"  Oh !  I  coukl  n't  bear  the  sea.  You  know  how  sick  I 
was  the  other  day,  aunt.  I  was  only  thinking  how  delightful 
the  repose  of  this  scene  is,  after  crowded  streets,  and  all  the 
bustle  of  a  town." 

"  Thei'e  is  no  such  thing  as  repose  in  this  life,  Rita ;  you 
must  not  expect  it.  The  street  is  a  better  type  of  life  than 
this  quiet  shore — an  earnest  struggle  forwards." 

"  And  yet  are  there  not  many  very  peaceful,  quiet 
lives  ?  " . 

"  Not  without  their  round  of  toils  and  duties.  Small  it 
may  be,  but  without  them  no  one  can  be  happy,  for  they  are 
not  doing  the  work  they  were  appointed  here  to  do.  Rest  — 
that  is  inaction,  is  decay.  We  are  always  either  going  for- 
wards or  backwards ;  we  cannot  remain  as  we  are.  Re- 
member this.  Even  the  world  we  live  in  is  always  chang- 
ing—  passing  from  one  state  to  another,  beside  revolving,  as 
you  know,  daily  on  its  axis,  and  making  its  annual  course 
round  the  sun.  That  sun,  itself,  which  we  are  apt  to 
consider  stationary,  astronomers  tell  us  is  now  advancing  on 
a  vast  journey,  in  which  the  earth  and  her  sister  planets 
must  accompany  him ;  in  short,  all  the  heavenly  bodies  are 
incessantly  in  motion,  and  none  are  at  rest.  It  is  so  Avith 
our  lives.  Do  you  think  we  are  the  only  creatures  God  has 
put  into  this  fair  world  to  do  nothing  ?  With  our  minds,  or 
with  our  hands,  Ave  must  all  of  us  work,  some  more,  some 
less  ;  otherwise  we  sink  below  the  condition  of  the  brutes  of 
the  field." 

It  was  always  this  same  note  she  rang.  Whether  her 
tale  was  of  the  past  or  tlie  present ;  of  the  knightly  arm 
Avielding  its  battleaxe,  or  the  peasant's  at  his  plough  ;  states- 
men in  their  closets,  women  at  their  looms  —  the  oldest  and 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  43 

the  youngest,  the  richest  and  the  poorest  —  one  note  for  all : 
that  man  should  live  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow,  and  that  this 
earth  is  not  our  abiding  place. 

Rose  and  Emily  seldom  took  part  in,  or  indeed  listened  to, 

these   conversations.      They  were   generally   a   few   paces 

behind  us,  with  their  arms  entwined,  and  making  a  very 

pretty  picture,  as  some  of  the  Boulognese  young  gentlemen 

seemed  to  think,  from  the  remarkable  frequency  with  which 

we  met  the   same  faces,  go  in  which  direction  we  would. 

Rose  certainly  did  not  love  my  aunt  as  I  did,  and  the  latter, 

on  the  other  hand,  was  rather  severe  on  my  sister's  innocent 

love  of  dress  —  at  least,  I  thought  so  then,  and  that  she  did 

not  make  sufficient  allowance  for  the  training  she  had  had. 

"Was  it  a  merit  in  me,  whom  no  one  flattered  or  admired, 

that  I  cared  httle  if  my  hair  was  out  of  curl  with  the  sea 

air  when  we  went  out  walking  in  our  new  pink  bonnets  on 

Sundays  ?     And  yet  I  had  enough  vanity  in  other  ways,  as 

my  aunt  well  knew.     But  she  looked  to  the  future,  I  believe, 

and  the  danger  of  these  frivolous  tendencies  being  encouraged 

in  Rose's  position.     On  one  occasion,  Avhen  the  latter  had 

been  suffering  from  violent  headache,  and  was  feverish,  my 

aunt  took  a  pair  of  scissors,  and,  with  her  own  hands,  cut 

off  a  quantity  of  the  long  golden  hair  that  hung  down  her 

back.     As  far  as  the  fever  went,  I  do  believe  the  remedy 

was  worse  than   the   disease,   such   a  storm  of  tears   and 

indignant  reproaches  as  it  entailed.     She  kept  her  bed  for  a 

whole  day,  and,  like  Rachel,  refused  to  be  comforted,  nor 

did  she  for  long  afterwards  forgive  my  aunt's  "  cruelty,"  as 

she  termed  it. 

Those  pleasant  summer  days,  whose  sunshine  still  remains 
with  us,  while  their  shadows  have  long  since  fleeted  and  are 
forgotten,  came  at  last  to  rather  a  sudden  close.  The  limit 
originally  fixed  for  our  visit  was  long  since  past,  when  a 
letter  was  put  into  my  aunt's  hands  one  morning  which 
made  her  anxious  to  reach  England,  as  soon  as  possible,  she 


u 


RITA: 


said,  and  fixed  her  departure  for  the  following  day.  She 
was  evidently  preoccupied,  uneasy,  and  spent  the  whole 
morning,  which  was  a  very  sad  one  for  us,  in  close  colloquy 
with  Miss  Lateward.  This  may  have  had  reference  to  us, 
and  to  our  education,  for  in  the  evening  she  said : 

"  I  have  asked  Miss  Lateward,  on  your  return  to  Paris, 
to  procure  for  you  a  good  cbawing-master,  Rita.  I  always 
intended  you  should  have  one,  for  you  have  a  decided  talent, 
which  it  is  right  you  should  cultivate.  Besides,  you  really 
deserve  this  little  reward  for  your  hard  work  at  more 
important  studies,  of  which  Miss  Lateward  gives  such  a 
good  report.  Write  to  me  regularly  and  constantly,  my 
child,  and  never  be  afraid  of  telling  me  the  most  trivial 
things.  Letters  are  always  the  most  valuable  when  they 
are  true  reflections  of  the  writer's  life  and  mind.  Do  not 
try  to  write  clever  letters,  or  amusing  letters,  or  any  thing 
but  the  simple  transcript  of  w^iat  is  going  on  in  you  and 
around  you  —  as  much  of  yourself,  in  short,  as  you  can  give 
me.  Above  all,  in  any  difficulty  from  within,  or  from 
without,  write  to  me  at  once,  fully  and  openly.  If  I  can 
serve  you  in  no  other  way,  you  may  at  least  depend  on 
having  my  best  counsel." 

But  it  was  evident  that  matters  of  moment  weighed  on 
my  aunt's  mind,  and  this  thi-ew  an  additional  gloom  upon 
our  parting,  which  was  effected  with  many  choking  tears  on 
my  part,  and  many  a  kind  word  on  hers.  She  held  out  no 
hope  of  a  return.  Nothing  but  Emily's  health  would  brin"- 
her  abroad  again ;  but  some  future  year  I  should  come  over 
and  pay  her  a  visit  in  England.  And  so  we  parted.  The 
bell  rang,  and  the  boiler  began  to  spit  out  its  indignant 
steam  at  us,  and  we  had  only  time  to  run  across  the  plank 
back  upon  the  crowded  quay  before  it  was  withdrawn,  and 
the  faces  we  loved  upon  deck  began  to  glide  away,  slowly  — 
slowly  —  from  our  tearful  eyes.  We  ran  down  the  pier, 
and  waved  our  wet  handkerchiefs  as  long  as  the  steamer 


AN   AUTOBIOGKAPHY.  45 

was  in  sight ;  and  when  the  smoke  had  faded  quite  away, 
and  our  straining  sight  could  no  longer  distinguish  it 
from  the  foggy  cliffs  of  old  England,  we  turned  back  with 
heavy  hearts  to  the  diUgence-office,  and  took  our  places  for 
Paris. 


CHAPTER  V. 

I  SHALL  pass  over  the  next  three  or  four  years  in  almost 
as  many  pages.  Should  any  middle-aged  critic  (the  young 
and  the  old  will  be  more  lenient)  feel  disposed  to  resent  the 
unreasonable  time  I  have  detained  him  over  these  recol- 
lections of  my  childhood,  I  can  but  humbly  beg  his  pardon. 
I  know  beforehand  all  he  would  say  of  "  that  puerile  affecta- 
tion which  authors  now  adopt  of  describing  minutely  every 
event  that  happened  in  the  hero's  or  heroine's  nursery." 
He  will  refer  me  to  many  admirable  Avorks,  in  which  the 
ladies  and  gentlemen  step  from  the  author's  brain,  Minerva- 
like, upon  the  scene,  full  dressed,  and  ready  for  action ; 
models,  in  their  several  ways,  well-developed  and  ever 
sufficient  for  the  exigencies  of  the  situation.  Alas  !  my  dear 
sir,  I  am  nothing  of  the  kind.  That  is  my  excuse  for  noting 
down,  as  memory  serves,  the  small  events  that  seem  to  have 
influenced  in  a  great  measure  all  my  subsequent  life. 

On  our  return  to  Paris,  we  found  our  mother  in  bed,  ill 
and  miserable.  The  secret  cause  of  this  I  was  far  from 
guessing,  but  it  oozed  out  some  days  afterwards  in  an 
unguarded  moment.  My  father  was  in  trouble  again.  He 
was  in  a  place  they  called  the  "  King's  Bench,"  in  England 
—  no  uncomfortable  seat,  one  would  have  thought ;  but  his 
being  there  was  evidently  a  calamity.  Long  letters  arrived, 
and  I  heard  my  aunt's  name  more  than  once  in  the  conver- 
sations that  passed  between  my  mother  and  Miss  Lateward. 
The  latter  never  abused  the  dangerous  post  of  a  confidante, 
to  which  she  was  now  raised ;  her  good  sense  and  prudence 
made  her  a  valuable  friend  to  my  mother,  which  she  re- 

(46) 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  47 

mained,  from  this  time  forwards.  I  had  written  to  my  aunt 
more  than  once,  and  was  a  Uttle  mortified  at  these  episto- 
lary compositions,  upon  which  I  had  spent  considerable  time 
and  labor,  remaining  unacknowledged,  save  by  a  message  at 
tlie  end  of  one  of  her  letters  to  my  mother :  "  Thank  Rita 
for  hers.  The  style  is  better  than  the  orthography.  Apart- 
ment is  spelt,  in  English,  with  one  p,  and  fulfil,  with  two  /'^, 
and  not  four.  I  am  much  too  busy,  as  you  know,  to  write 
to  her  just  at  present,  but  hope  to  do  so  before  long." 

At  last,  it  came  out  that  Lady  Dacre  had  once  more  paid 
my  father's  debts  ;  and  after  endless  trouble  with  law  and 
lawyers,  had  got  him  liberated.  A  month  or  two  later,  he 
returned  ;  my  aunt's  name  was  never  mentioned  by  him, 
but,  for  a  time,  things  went  on  better.  The  winter  passed, 
bringing  its  storms  and  rains  and  intermittent  sun-gleams,  in 
our  inner  world,  as  in  the  world  without.  My  mother's 
health  was  evidently  much  shattered,  and  in  proportion  as 
she  became  incapacitated  from  superintending  the  domestic 
arrangements,  I  began  to  assume  a  more  prominent  position 
in  the  household.  Those  insignia  of  office,  the  keys,  were 
transmitted  to  me ;  I  ordered  dinner  ;  I  came  into  personal 
contact  with  butchers  and  bakers ;  and,  in  course  of  time,  I 
had  to  devise  humiliating  subterfuges  for  deferring  payments 
long  since  due,  and  for  keeping  clamorous  creditors  in 
tolerable  humor.  Before  the  year  was  out,  I  had  but  too 
much  ground  for  fearing  that  my  father's  affairs  were  again 
deeply  involved.  The  applications  I  was  obliged  to  make 
for  money  to  meet  the  most  pressing  bills  were  generally 
fruitless.  Occasionally,  if  I  chose  a  lucky  morning,  and 
found  him  in  good  spirits,  his  dressing-table  strewed  with 
loose  notes  and  silver,  he  would  toss  me  one  of  the  former, 
with  a  recommendation  to  make  it  go  as  far  as  I  could.  A 
strange  sensation  it  was,  for  a  girl  of  fourteen,  the  relief  I 
felt  at  such  a  moment,  as  I  snatched  up  the  money,  and 
hurried  out  of  the  room !  I  had,  fortunately,  very  buoyant 


48  RITA : 

spirits ;  and  for  the  many  miserable  hours  I  spent,  enjoyed 
some  of  true  and  lively  pleasure.  My  drawing-lesson  was 
always  sure  to  bring  me  one.  It  was  proper  "  high  art;" 
not  the  glazed  card  and  B.  B.  pencil  style  of  thing,  but 
casts  of  hands  and  feet,  anatomical  sketches,  and  sections ; 
until  at  last,  in  a  proud  moment,  I  was  promoted  to  the  bust 
itself,  helmeted  and  Hyperion-locked.  Tliese  progressive 
studies  had  one  drawback.  The  history  of  Eome  began  to 
be  illustrated  all  over  with  my  conceptions  of  its  heroes ; 
there  every  variety  of  the  Roman  nose  was  to  be  seen,  and 
toas  seen  by  Miss  Lateward,  to  that  lady's  just  indignation. 
In  vain  she  called  the  practice  "vulgar  and  unladylike." 
Sometimes,  as  I  yawned  over  Caesar,  dying  with  decent 
dignity,  it  was  irresistible  to  try  and  portray  his  venerable 
head,  bowed  beneath  the  folds  of  the  toga.  This  was  one  of 
the  few  causes  of  serious  complaint  my  good  governess  ever 
made  against  me.  In  other  respects,  I  was  an  exemplary 
pupil,  and  began  to  assist  her  in  teaching  my  little  brothers. 
I  very  rarely  saw  the  General  now,  or  Madame.  Every 
Sunday  afternoon,  however,  I  made  a  point  of  paying  them 
a  visit,  as  well  as  old  Barac.  It  was  as  great  a  deprivation 
to  the  latter  as  to  myself  that  my  visits  to  his  den  were  now 
so  few  and  rare  ;  but  I  was  no  longer  a  neglected  child  whose 
time  was  at  her  own  disposal.  On  the  Jour  de  I'An  he  sent 
me  a  box  of  oil-colors  and  brushes,  and,  to  my  satisfaction, 
a  few  months  later,  I  was  able  to  present  him  with  the  first 
fruits  of  his  present  in  a  tolerable  copy  of  a  favorite  little 
picture  of  his,  which,  after  years  of  repose  by  his  mantelpiece, 
with  a  green  curtain  over  it,  had  found  a  purchaser,  and  was 
going  to  adorn  some  brilliant  boudoir  in  the  Faubourg.  I 
had  a  double  satisfaction,  therefore,  in  replacing,  however 
inadequately,  the  old  man's  departing  Penates,  for  such  it 
almost  seemed  from  long  association.  I  carried  it  myself 
(under  protest  from  Miss  Lateward  against  a  "  young  lady's 
infringing  the  usages  of  society  in  so  marked  a  manner  as  to 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  49 

pay  visits  to  unmarried  gentlemen"),  and  I  remember  dis- 
tinctly the  pleasurable  excitement,  and  the  full  beating  of  my 
heart  as  I  stood  and  tapped  gently  at  the  battered  face  of  the 
door,  from  which  the  paint  ^vas  torn  and  blistered.  There 
was  a  murmur  of  voices  within  —  then  I  thought  I  would  go 
away  ;  but  remembering  I  might  not  have  a  few  spare  min- 
utes again  that  day,  I  gathered  courage,  and  knocked  yet 
louder.     The  old  Jew  greeted  me  warmly. 

"  Mein  Gott !  Mees  Marguerite  !  come  in.  Not  often  I 
see  you  now.  The  leetle  '  madchen '  has  grown  out  fine  young 
lady.  Comes  no  more  for  to  draw  in  de  old  man's  room.  I 
have  new  tings  —  etwas  wunderschones  —  take  a  stool,  liebes 
Fraulein,  and  see."  Whereupon  he  dusted  a  chair  with  his 
pocket-handkerchief,  and  offered  it  to  me. 

There  was  a  heavy,  black-bearded  man  standing  in  the 
centre  of  the  room,  his  hands  thrust  behind  his  coat-tails,  in 
a  contemplative  manner,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  a  picture  that 
rested  against  a  chair  in  the  window,  when  the  light  fell  on  it 
to  the  best  advantage.  The  amount  of  jewelry  which  this 
person  carried  about  him  was  dazzling.  Chains  and  rings  of 
Newgate  dimensions  hung  over  a  velvet  waistcoat  embroid- 
ered in  rosebuds,  and  sparkled  upon  very  dirty  hands.  The 
expression  of  his  features  was  as  anomalous  as  the  rest  of 
his  appearance.  Eyes  sharp  and  cunning  as  a  fox's  ;  a  low, 
receding  brow,  balanced  by  a  full,  hood-tempered  mouth, 
lined  with  white,  fierce-looking  teeth  ;  manner  at  once  shrewd, 
familiar,  obsequious ;  language  (in  every  tongue,  I  subse- 
quently learnt)  more  fluent  than  accurate,  so  that  his  nation 
was  always  an  unsolved  problem,  except  inasmuch  as  he  was 
of  Hebrew  persuasion. 

This  was  the  great  Ismael,  agent  to  the  Emperor  of  all 
the  Russias,  dealer  in  pictures,  and  in  objects  of  vertii,  "  doer 
of  bills,"  performer  of  any  kind  and  quantity  of  dirty-work 
for  great  men,  and  of  some  acts  of  kindness,  in  extremity,  to 
small  ones.     Do  not  forget  the  last :  it  is  held  to  be  an  im- 

4 


50  RITA : 

possibility  in  his  class.  Though  of  the  same  trade "  as 
Barac,  that  they  did  "  agree,"  in  contradiction  to  the  popular 
adage,  probably  arose  from  the  fact  that  there  was  a  differ- 
ence in  their  ostensible  position  in  the  world,  and  that  their 
interests  did  not  clash.  Monsieur  Barac,  as  I  have  already 
said,  was  by  way  of  being  "  a  gentleman."  His  buyings  and 
sellings  were  aU  under  the  rose.  You  were  not  su^iposed  to 
know  how  the  pictures  came  upon  his  walls,  or  where  they 
suddenly  disappeared  —  the  truth  being  that  his  was  a  sort 
of  secret  repository  for  the  great  world-known  dealers,  such 
as  Ismael,  whom  I  now  found  closeted  with  him. 

"  What  is  this  here  ?  "  exclaimed  Monsieur  Barac,  as  he 
took  the  jiicture  I  placed  in  his  hand  —  "  copy  of  my  Isabey  ? 
Lieber  Gott !  Miss  Marguerite,  why,  is  this  your  doing  ? 
Capital !  I  had  no  idea  —  but  then  it  is  many  months  that  I 
your  work  have  not  seen.  Ah !  mees,  you  will  for  to  be  one 
Elizabetta  Sirani,  or  Angelica  Kaufmann,  some  day." 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  don't  think  my  copy  very  bad,  Monsieur 
Barac,  because  I  did  it  for  you." 

"  My  dear  little  mees,  I  thank  you.  It  will  be  one  veritable 
treasure,  and  I  will  value  it  as  the  orange  of  my  eye"  (a 
variation  of  the  Eastern  hyperbole  well  suited  to  the  organ 
in  question). 

"  Sagen  sie  mal,  Ismael,  ist  es  nicht  eine  vortreffliche 
copie  ?  The  young  lady  is  daughter  to  Colonel  Percival,  up 
there,  whom  you  know." 

"  Sans  doute,  je  le  connais  ce  pon  colonel,"  said  the  other, 
with  a  singular  expression  of  face,  as  he  approached  and  took 
my  picture  out  of  Barac's  hand.  "  Brava  !  je  fous  en  fais 
mes  complimens,  mam'selle.  I  have  de  plaisir  to  acquaint 
many  ladies  who  paint  demselves.  Dere  is  Princesse 
Chiararosso,  one  vast  amiable  lady,  wid  a  fine  talent  after 
natui'e,  and  your  compatriote,  Lady  Waterloo,  also ;  but, 
barole  d'honneur,  I  have  seen  none  at  your  years  expose  a 
more  rich  sensibility  for  art.     Dis  sea  here  is  zo  clear  and 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  51 

zo  good  color  as  you  may  see  de  fishes  a  sporting  almost 
underneat.  Ah!  pity  you  not  have  to  study  as  artiste, 
instead  of  peing  pom  in  de  luxury."  (Was  it  my  fancy,  or 
was  there  an  expression  of  mockery  in  his  eye  as  he  said 
this  ?)  "  You  would  make  fortune  if  you  were  hke  dat  poor 
defile  whom  I  gif  to  copy  *  La  Pelle  Jardiniere '  for  Prince 
Doppledorff"  —  entre  nous  —  pure  charity.  He  cannot  draw 
zo  well  dan  dis.  No  warm  —  no  color ;  his  eye  not  full  of 
juices  like  yours." 

I  thanked  him,  vv-ith  a  smile;  and  feeling  that  I  had 
intruded  long  enough  on  old  Barac's  time,  as  he  was  evi- 
dently "  doing  business "  with  Ismael,  under  pretext  of  a 
friendly  chat,  I  was  preparing  to  leave  the  room,  when  the 
latter  exclaimed, 

"  Bermit  me,  Mamzelle,  to  offer  my  cart.  If  never,  zome 
day  you  should  turn  artiste  —  "  Here  he  broke  into  a  smile 
that  showed  all  the  fierce  teeth,  and,  with  an  elaborate  bow, 
placed  in  my  hand  a  glazed  card,  on  which  the  name  and 
address  of  Felicien  Ismael  lay  embedded  in  a  labyrinth  of 
flourishes,  conceived  in  the  boldest  style  of  ornamental  print- 
ing. The  curl  of  the  F  swept  all  round  the  word,  till  its 
convolutions  terminated  in  a  griffin's  head ;  and  the  tail  of 
the  L  kept  up  a  balancing  movement,  of  a  serpentine  nature, 
at  the  other  end.  Is  there  not  character  in  a  visiting-card  ? 
I  have  thought  so,  and  held  certain  theories  of  my  own  on 
the  subject  ever  since  I  beheld  the  one  in  question.  Now 
that  the  public  is  satiated  with  its  interpreters  of  cahgraphy, 
why  does  no  "  professor  of  cartography "  advertise  in  the 
Times'^  I  throw  out  the  suggestion  to  any  needy  gentle- 
woman. 

As  I  bowed  to  the  jewelled  waistcoat  and  left  the  room,  I 
caught,  through,  the  closing  door,  "  Diable,  Barac,  mais  elle 
sera  pelle,  cette  petite." 

It  was  probably  about  nine  months  after  the  circumstance 
just  related  —  I  was  just  sixteen  —  when  I  was  called  out  of 


52  RITA : 

the  room  one  morning  to  speak  to  a  man,  whom  my  father, 
as  usual,  finding  he  was  a  tradesman,  would  not  see.  The 
man,  I  was  told,  refused  to  leave  the  house  without  speaking 
to  some  member  of  the  family,  and  as  Betsy  announced  her 
conviction  that  he  would  stand  there  "  all  the  blessed  day, 
he  do  look  so  dogged-like,"  and,  further,  that  he  was 
"  English  —  somethink  of  the  groom,"  I  determined  to  see 
him ;  not  without  a  dim  hope  that  there  might  be  some 
mistake. 

I  found,  as  Betsy  had  indicated,  a  broad,  sandy-haired, 
obstinate  English  face,  and  a  pair  of  brown  cloth  gaiters, 
accompanied  by  a  strong  smell  of  the  stables. 

"  You  cannot  see  Colonel  Percival.  He  is  not  out  of  his 
room ;  but  I  am  his  daughter  and  can  tell  him  any  thing 
j-ou  have  to  say." 

"  Not  much  use  sx-sai/ing  anythink,  I  suppose  ;  only  I  jist 
come  to  tell  the  Colonel  as  I  'm  not  agoing  to  stand  it  any 
longer.  I  'm  a  poor  man,  'ard  up  for  the  money.  My  bill 's 
of  near  two  years  standing.  So  long  as  he  kep'  to  me,  I 
could  n'i;  do  no  more  than  ax  him  to  pay  some  part  of  it  on 
account,  which  I  did,  scores  of  times  —  no  use.  And  row 
he's  taken  to  ridin'  an  'orse  of  vSmith's,  in  the  -Mxvenou 
Noully,  because  mine  ain't  good  enough,  p'rhaps,  and  'ow  is 
a  poor  man  to  —  ?  " 

"  Stop !  are  you  not  mistaking  some  other  person  for  ray 
father  ?  He  seldom  rides  ;  when  he  does  a  friend  lends  him 
a  horse." 

"  Ho,  miss  !  there  ain't  no  mistake  unfort'nately.  'As  n't 
the  Colonel  been  to  my  stable  'is  self?  and  'aven't  I  led  the 
'orses,  him  and  the  Countess's,  up  and  down  the  street  there, 
a-waitin'  for  'em,  and  tuk  the  'orses  agin  when  they  come 
back,  over  and  over  agin,  miss  ?  Besides,  I  suppose  you 
know  the  Colonel's  writin'.  I've  got  a  'alf-dozen  orders, 
signed  with  'is  name.  After  a  bit,  when  I  see  he  were  so 
shy  of  payin',  I  kep'  some  on  'em."     And  he  pulled  out  of 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  53 

his  pocket  a  soiled  and  crumpled  paper,  the  handwriting 
upon  which  I  only  recognized  too  well. 

"  What  is  the  amount  of  your  bill  ?  " 

"  Four  hundred  and  twenty  francs."  (Poor  mother !  and 
you  were  ill  and  wanting  so  many  necessary  comforts !) 
"  I  've  been  served  the  like  trick  by  so  many  gerClemen  — 
calls  themselves  sich  —  and  some  on  'em  has  been  and  cut ; 
and  now  I'm  gettin'  a  bit  sharper,  and,"  he  continued,  in  a 
louder  voice,  and  thumping  his  fist  down  on  the  table,  "  I  'm 
not  agoin'  to  be  done  out  of  my  money,  and  so  you  may  tell 
the  Colonel ;  and  as  I  see  'e  don't  intend  to  pay  me  if  'e 
can  'elp  it,  why  I'll  jist  see  if  I  can't  make  'im." 

"Wait!"  said  I,  hurriedly,  and  alarmed  at  the  idea  of 
more  law,  "  pray  wait,  do  nothing  until  —  until  I  can  see  my 
father.  If  this  debt  is  just  and  right  I  am  sui-e  he  will  pay 
you  —  but  have  a  little  patience." 

I  spoke  with  a  confidence  I  was  far  from  feeling,  which 
probably  the  man  guessed,  for  he  rejoined,  with  a  determined 
shake  of  the  head,  as  he  stuffed  his  hands  far  down  into  his 
breeches  pockets,  "  Very  well,  miss,  then  if  yon  please,  I  '11 
just  wait  till  you  can  see  the  Colonel,  and  'ear  what  'e  says, 
and  then  I  can  act  according^^/.  I  PUEfer  waitin',  if  you 
please." 

Seeing  that  the  man  was  resolved,  there  was  nothing  for 
it  but  to  hazard  an  interview  with  my  father,  and  try  and 
induce  him  to  pay  some  part  of  the  bill,  which  I  could  no 
longer  doubt  was  a  just  one.     I  knocked  at  his  door. 

"  May  I  come  in,  papa  ?  " 

"  What  the  deuce  do  you  want  ?     I  'm  busy." 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  you  particularly."  Here  I  opened 
the  door  ajar. 

"  Well,  come  in,  and  make  haste." 

I  entered ;  my  father  was  seated  with  a  cup  of  chocolate, 
a  cigar,  and  Galignani's  Messenger,  between  which  his  atten- 
tion seemed  equally  divided.     The  table  was  covered  with 


54  RITA : 

bills  and  jiapers.  Among  these,  my  eye  rested  more  than 
once  in  the  course  of  the  interview  on  a  letter  directed  in  a 
small,  foreign  hand,  "  A  Monsieur  Edouard  Brown."  It 
made  an  impression  on  me  —  perhaps  from  the  combination 
of  a  French  with  an  Enghsh  name  —  and  I  found  myself 
unconsciously  repeating  them  over  several  times  that  day. 
I  laid  the  bill  before  my  father. 

"  There  is  a  man  outside  who  insists  upon  seeing  you,  or 
having  an  answer  about  this  bill.  He  is  very  importunate 
for  the  money.     He  —  " 

"D — n  his  importunity;  he's  an  infernal  cheat.  He 
knows  he  can't  prove  a  single  item.  If  he'd  brought  in  a 
decent  bill,  perhaps  I  might  have  paid  him.  Last  June 
twelvemonth !  Tlie  scoundrel !  How  am  I  to  remember  so 
far  back  ?  Why  did  n't  he  bring  in  his  bill  before,  I  should 
like  to  know  ?  Not  had  a  horse  from  him  for  months  ;  hor- 
rid screws  they  were  too." 

"  He  says  he  asked  you  for  the  money  very  often,  but 
that  he  did  not  think  of  insisting  on  the  payment  of  it  until 
you  gave  up  dealing  with  him  some  short  time  back." 

"  Confound  these  blackguards  !  they  really  are  too  cool  — 
so  ungrateful,  too,  after  my  having  patronized  and  recom- 
mended him  !  Insist !  What  can  he  prove  ?  not  one  quarter 
of  this  bill,  I  am  sure." 

"  You  do  not  deny  that  some  of  it  is  just  ?  " 

"  Well  —  perhaps  —  'pon  my  life,  at  this  distance  of 
time  —  " 

"  It  is  immaterial.  Fortunately  —  for  the  man  —  he  has 
orders  in  your  hand,  to  show  that  these  horses  were  for  you. 
Now,  I  am  very  sure,  from  his  determined  manner,  that  he 
will  go  to  law,  and  spare  no  means  of  making  you  pay  this 
bill.  Is  it  not  better  to  pay,  at  least,  a  part  of  it  ?  Don't 
let  me  aggravate  him,  by  sending  him  away  without  a  hope 
of  getting  any  thing." 

"  I  know  something  more  of  French  law  than  he  does,  I 


AN    AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  55 

suspect.  He  can't  produce  more  than  three  or  four  orders 
in  my  hand.  The  court  will  ask  him  why  he  didn't  sue  me 
for  hi«  rascally  bill  a  year  ago.  They  always  take  one's 
part  against  the  canaille.  It  won't  be  the  first  time  I  have 
known  them  to  do  so.  Tell  the  fellow  to  wait,  and  not  to 
bother  me,  and  some  day  I  shall  pay  him." 

"  What,  even  for  what  you  say  you  do  not  owe  ?  " 

'*  Eh  ?  Well,  it  is  more  than  the  fellow  deserves  ;  but  as 
to  paying  him  now,  it  is  out  of  the  question ;  I  have  n't  got 
it,  and  so  you  may  tell  him  ;  and  I  really  cannot  be  bothered 
in  this  way.  But  if  he  remains  quiet  I'll  recommend  him,  I 
really  will,  and  he  knows  I  have  got  him  lots  of  custom  al- 
ready." 

I  checked  the  suggestion  which  rose  to  my  lips,  that  these 
recommendations  might  have  proved  but  doubtful  benefits. 
My  father  took  up  the  Galignani  and  I  left  the  room  in  si- 
lence.    What  was  to  be  done  ? 

I  sat  down  in  the  drawing-room,  to  think  what  I  could 
say  to  the  man.  It  was  extraordinary  how  my  father,  with 
his  worldly  experience,  should  be  so  short-sighted  —  should 
blind  himself  in  this  way  to  immediate  consequences.  Care- 
less for  the  morrow,  it  seemed  sufficient  for  him  that  he 
should  elude  the  difficulties  of  the  day  any  how.  As  to  the 
dishonesty  of  such  conduct,  of  course  I  did  not  expect  him 
to  consider  that. 

But  the  business  was  pressing ;  something  must  be  done. 
I  had  not  a  five-franc  piece  in  my  possession.  To  apply  to 
my  poor  mother  was  worse  than  useless ;  it  was  to  cause  her 
additional  anxiety  and  agitation.  On  the  other  hand,  to  send 
the  man  away  exasperated,  to  carry  his  threat  into  execu- 
tion, seemed  madness  —  any  thing  rather  than  that.  Sud- 
denly an  idea  flashed  across  me.  "  Absurd  !  Well !  I  can 
but  try  ; "  and  I  started  ud.  I  did  not  stop  to  consider  the 
feasibility  of  the  plan,  but  ran  into  the  next  room,  with  my 
cheeks  very  red,  gasping  out  — 


56  RITA: 

"  Will  you  wait  for  a  few  hours  ?  I  promise  that  a  part  of 
your  money,  at  least,  shall  be  paid  this  evening.  You  wiU 
trust  me  ?  " 

The  man,  who  was  evidently  prepared  for  a  very  different 
answer,  looked  astonished,  but  finally  consented  to  return 
again  at  six  o'clock. 

As  soon  as  he  was  gone,  I  called  Betsy,  desired  her  to  put 
on  her  bonnet,  and  come  out  with  me  immediately.  So  un- 
usual a  proceeding,  as  we  never  walked  but  in  a  family  pha- 
lanx headed  by  Miss  Lateward,  called  for  remonstrance. 

"Why,  law.  Miss  Rita,  you  ain't  a-going  by  ourselves, 
sure/y  ?  " 

"And  why  not  ?  I  am  not  a  child.  I  am  old  enough  and 
plain  enough  to  take  care  of  myself;  if  you  can't  do  the 
same  I  must  take  care  of  you,  that  is  all,  Betsy.  So  come  " 
(in  my  most  authoritative  manner),  "  put  on  your  bonnet  di- 
rectly, if  you  please,  and  don't  say  a  word  to  anybody." 

With  some  difficulty  I  got  the  little  maid  under  weigh.  I 
tied  a  thick  veil  over  my  bonnet,  and,  with  a  paper  parcel 
under  my  arm,  may  have  passed  for  one  of  those  mysterious 
and  all-powerful  "  assistants  "  of  the  female  form,  who  are  to 
be  seen  hurrying  through  the  fashionable  quartiers  of  Paris 
in  the  early  morning.  It  was  a  hard  frost.  The  sun  had 
not  yet  thawed  the  ice  in  the  gutters,  and  we  scudded  along 
the  slippery  streets,  as  fast  as  we  could,  until,  emerging  in 
the  great  thoroughfare,  I  slackened  my  pace  as  we  ap- 
proached a  large  shop,  in  the  window  of  which  were  exhib- 
ited water-color  sketches,  heads  in  chalk  and  pastel,  and  two 
or  three  small  oil  pictures  upon  easels.  A  man  was  arrang- 
ing these  for  the  day  and  studying  the  general  effect,  as  I 
entered.  A  second  shopman  "  bearded  like  the  pard,"  was 
at  the  counter;  he  looked  up  from  the  greasy  novel  over 
which  he  was  lounging ;  but  neitlyjr  of  them  seemed  to  think 
it  worth  while  to  discontinue  their  occupations  for  the  shabby- 
looking  women  who  darkened  the  doorway.     The  man  who 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  57 

was  arranging  pictures  just  looked  over  his  shoulder  and 
asked  what  I  wanted,  while  I  proceeded  to  untie  my  parcel 
with  trembling  hands. 

"  Here  are  two  small  pictures  ;  I  thought,  perhaps  —  you 
would  buy  —  I  have  seen  such  in  your  window,  in  passing, 
sir,  and  being  anxious  to  sell  these  —  " 

"  "What  do  you  want  for  them  ?  "  said  the  man,  abruptly. 
At  the  same  time  he  took  them  up  and  examined  them  at- 
tentively. I  was  afraid  of  saying  less,  and  ashamed  of  say- 
ing more  than  the  man  might  think  them  worth ;  so  I 
adopted  the  diplomacy  of  true  cowardice,  and  took  refuge  in 
silence. 

"  I  will  give  you  twenty  francs  each  for  them." 

Twenty  francs  only !  I  could  hardly  resti'ain  my  tears. 
They  were  my  last  performances,  on  which  my  master  had 
bestowed  considei'able  praise,  and  I  had  expected,  at  least, 
a  hundred  francs.  But  it  was  not  altogether  disappointed 
vanity,  for  that  horrid  bill  was  uppermost  in  my  mind ;  to 
which  twenty  francs  was  as  a  drop  in  the  ocean.  I  began  to 
wrap  up  my  children  again,  indignantly. 

"  No,  if  that  is  all  you  will  give,  I  will  take  them  else- 
where ;  but  I  think  they  are  worth  as  much  as  the  daub 
on  that  easel,  which  I  see  marked  a  hundred  and  fifty 
francs." 

"  Possibly  that  is  your  opinion.  Now,  the  gentleman  who 
did  that,  wanted  three  hundred  francs  for  it.  Artists  are  not 
always  the  best  judges  of  what  their  works  are  worth,  made- 
moiselle." 

"  I  shall  take  mine  to  some  one  I  consider  a  better  judge 
than  you,  sir." 

"  Come,  mademoiselle,  by  way  of  encouragement,  I  don't 
care  if  I  make  it  thirty  francs  —  sixty  for  the  pair ;  though 
it  is  really  more  than  they  are  worth." 

I  hesitated.  Time  was  precious ;  and  as  I  revolved  in 
my  mind  the  impossibility  of  carrying  my  pictures  about 


58  RITA : 

Paris  for  sale,  I  reluctantly  concluded  what  I  knew  to  be  a 
very  bad  bargain  for  me.  As  the  man  leant  over  and  put 
the  money  into  my  hands,  he  looked  into  my  face,  and  said, 
with  an  air  of  impudent  familiarity, 

"  Je  ne  I'ai  fait  que  pour  I'amour  de  vos  beaux  yeux." 

I  was  too  angry  to  say  any  thing,  and  was  leaving  the 
shop  without  taking  any  further  notice  of  the  man,  when  he 
called  out, 

"  Happy  to  see  you,  mademoiselle,  when  you  have  any 
thmg  else  to  bring  us."  And  so  terminated  my  first  trans- 
action in  trade. 

"We  walked  rapidly  and  silently  home ;  Betsy  dumb  with 
astonishment  at  the  scene  of  which  she  had  just  been  a 
spectator,  until,  as  we  reached  our  door,  I  turned  to  her  and 
said, 

"  Remember,  Betsy,  not  a  word  of  this.  I  know  I  can 
trust  you." 

In  the  evening  the  liveryman  came,  and  I  gave  him  the 
sixty  francs,  saying  I  hoped  he  would  be  satisfied  with  that 
for  the  present.  I  was  confident  of  being  able  to  pay  him 
the  remainder,  by  instalments,  in  the  course  of  two  or  three 
mouths. 

"  Call  again  this  day  fortnight  and  ask  for  me,  not  for  my 
father,  or  any  one  but  myself  I  have  kept  my  word  with 
you  this  evening,  so  far  as  this  small  sum  goes.  You  will 
continue  to  trust  me,  will  you  not  ?  " 

And  the  man  did ;  saying  in  his  rough,  dogged  way,  that 
he  didn't  think  I  wished  to  cheat  him,  and  that  he  would 
leave  it  in  my  hands,  for  the  present. 

It  will  be  sufficiently  obvious  why  I  was  anxious  that  my 
secret  should  be  strictly  kept.  Miss  Lateward  was  the  only 
person  whom  I  should  have  thought  of  consulting  in  the 
matter ;  and  I  knew,  however  much  she  might  have  ap- 
proved of  the  intention,  her  rigid  ideas  would  have  been 
shocked  at  the  manner  of  its  execution ;  and  her  sense  of 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  59 

propriety  would  have  compelled  her  to  make  knowri  the 
circumstance  to  my  mother.  That  was  the  last  thing  I 
wished  ;  unless,  indeed,  it  was,  that  my  father  should  become 
acquainted  with  the  fact  of  his  daughter's  turning  her  talent 
to  pecuniary  profit.  He  would  have  regarded  it  as  a  dis- 
grace, even  though  it  were  for  the  payment  of  his  own 
debts.  Therefore,  acting  on  my  own  unassisted  judgment,  I 
determined  to  follow  the  course  I  had  commenced  that  morn- 
ing, until  I  should  make  up  the  sum  required.  I  thought, 
at  one  moment,  of  writing  to  my  aunt  Maiy,  that  ever  faith- 
ful counsellor  and  friend ;  but  a  fear  that  she  would  reply 
by  sending  me  the  money  herself,  deterred  me ;  for  I 
blushed  to  think  what  a  burden  we  had  been  to  her ;  how 
she  had  paid  my  father's  debts  over  and  over  again,  and 
was  now  entirely  educating  us  children.  No ;  I  would  tell 
her  all,  and  ask  her  advice  for  the  future  after  I  had  fol- 
lowed my  own,  in  this  case ;  which  was  only  doing  what  the 
woi'ld  generally  does. 

Old  Barac,  who  would  have  been  of  such  material  assist- 
ance to  me,  was  unfortunately  absent  on  a  picture-hunting 
tour  in  Germany,  and  was  not  expected  back  for  two  or 
three  months.  I  had  no  one  I  could  ask  to  assist  me  in  dis- 
posing of  my  pictures ;  and  when,  after  several  mornings' 
early  rising,  I  had  finished  three  small  landscapes,  I  remem- 
bered with  repugnance  that  I  must  undergo  a  repetition  of 
the  disagreeable  interview  I  have  described,  or  take  them 
elsewhere.  I  went  to  two  other  shops,  and  found  one  of 
them  more  civil,  but  neither  of  them  more  liberal  in  their 
offers.  I  then  returned  to  the  first,  sorry  at  heart,  but  firm 
and  forbidding  of  aspect.  My  two  former  productions  had 
disappeared.  The  man  tried  to  have  those  I  now  brought 
on  the  same  terms,  but  finally  agreed  to  pay  me  ten  francs 
more  for  each,  which  gave  me  an  additional  sum  of  eighty 
francs. 

A  few  days  after  this,  a  young  French  girl,  Cecilc  de 


60  RITA :  ' 

Beaucroi,  whose  aquaintance  we  had  lately  made,  called  with 
her  governess  to  ask  me  to  walk  with  her.  We  were  walk- 
ing down  the  Rue ,  when,  as  we  passed  the  drawing 

shop  I  so  well  knew,  I  caught  sight  of  two  of  my  pictures, 
upon  easels,  near  the  door.  An  idea  suddenly  struck  me, 
and  I  said,  laughing, 

"  Cecile,  do  me  a  favor.  Go  into  that  shop,  and  ask 
the  price  of  two  small  pictures  you  will  see  facing  you 
—  one  with  peasants  and  cows  in  the  foreground  —  the 
other,  a  towing-path,  with  a  barge  and  horses  —  you  can't 
mistake  it." 

Cecile  skipped  into  the  shop,  without  paying  any  attention 
to  her  governess's  "  Mais  oil  allez-vous  done,  mademoiselle  ?" 
and  before  that  lady's  feeble  mind  had  recovered  from  its 
astonishment  sufficiently  to  follow  her,  Cecile  returned,  shrug- 
ging her  shoulders, 

"  Ma  bourse  est  bien  malade,  chere  petite,  or  I  would  buy 
them  for  you  ;  they  are  a  hundred  and  fifty  francs  ;  the  work 
of  a  young  artist,  and  only  so  cheap,  the  man  says,  on  that 
account,  though  I  think  them  very  dear." 

"  Ah !  no  doubt.  I  don't  want  to  buy  them,"  I  replied, 
with  a  kind  of  gloomy  satisfaction  ;  for  though  it  was  clear 
the  man  was  making  a  profit  of  seventy  francs  out  of  my 
laboi-,  it  was  also  clear  that  the  market  value  of  that  labor 
was  more  than  I  had  latterly  brought  myself  to  believe  or 
hope ;  and  I  determined  to  find  some  other  method  of  turn- 
ing it  to  the  best  account. 

I  was  now  engaged  upon  a  more  ambitious  subject  than  I 
had  yet  attempted,  a  Holy  Family,  the  design  of  which 
originated  in  a  sketch  of  Rose  and  our  two  small  brothers, 
as  they  sat  under  the  strong  light  of  a  lamp  one  evening, 
Arthur  on  Rose's  knee,  and  Roger  nestled  at  her  feet.  My 
sister  had  grown  up  suddenly  to  be  almost  a  woman  in  ap- 
pearance. She  was  fully  an  inch  taller  than  I,  and  though 
very  slight,  she  had  none  of  the  awkwardness  of  a  young 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  61 

girl.  It  required  very  little  to  make  her  the  Virgin  of  my 
imagination,  and  I  was  so  much  pleased  with  the  sketch, 
that  I  went  to  work  with  immense  ardor,  though  in  fear  and 
trembling,  to  paint  my  first  composition  in  oils.  It  was  a 
great  proof  of  my  improvement  —  though  I  did  not  then 
know  it  —  the  disgust  I  often  felt,  during  the  progress  of 
this  picture,  at  my  own  performance.  I  had  regarded 
former  productions  with  a  complacency  which  now  amazed 
and  shocked  me ;  indeed,  with  a  less  powerful  motive  to 
continue  my  labor,  I  should  probably  have  thrown  aside  the 
brushes  altogether.  At  last,  such  as  it  was,  the  picture  was 
finished ;  and,  after  leaving  it  a  day  or  two  to  dry,  I  pro- 
ceeded boldly  to  carry  into  execution  a  resolution  I  had 
come  to,  after  some  deliberation.  I  had  not  forgotten  Feli- 
cien  Ismael:  there  lay  his  card,  each  time  I  opened  my 
desk,  staring  me  in  the  face,  through  the  trellis  of  red  tape 
that  held  my  aunt's  letters  and  a  few  other  documents.  I 
could  not  help  seeing  it ;  and  if  I  could  not  but  remember 
the  disagreeable  impression  his  general  manner  and  appear- 
ance had  made  on  me,  neither  could  I  forget  the  favor  with 
which  he  had  regarded  my  first  oil  sketch,  now  nearly  a 
year  ago.  Certainly,  he  was  the  best  person  to  whom  I 
could  apply.  There  could  be  no  harm  in  just  taking  him 
my  picture.  If  I  did  not  find  him  agreeable  I  need  not 
return.  I  grew  familiar  with  the  idea ;  arranged  the  inter- 
view in  my  own  mind — what  I  should  say,  and  what  he 
would  answer  —  until  it  seemed  extraordinary  I  should 
not  have  thought  of  going  to  the  Jew  dealer  in  the  first 
instance. 

I  could  not  hope  to  keep  this  visit  a  secret.  Ismael  lived 
in  a  distant  part  of  Paris,  and  I  knew  I  should  be  absent  at 
least  two  hours,  and  must  be  missed  by  Miss  'Lateward  at 
all  events.  I  desired  Rose,  therefore,  to  inform  that  lady, 
upon  her  arrival  (she  only  came  at  half-past  nine),  that 
"  business  of  importance  "  had  obliged  me  to  go  ou  t,  and  that 


62  RITA  : 

I  should  not  be  home  for  some  time.  I  laughed  at  Rose's 
look  of  wonderment,  and  refusing  to  gratify  her  curiosity 
about  my  "  business  of  importance,"  I  kissed  her,  and  hur- 
ried out  of  the  house  with  Betsy. 

After  three  quarters  of  an  hour's  walk,  we  came  to  a  nar- 
row street,  whose  five-storied  houses  must  have  rendered 
the  sun's  daily  visit  but  of  short  duration.  The  houses  were 
large  and  handsome ;  had  once  been  hotels  of  some  of  the 
old  aristocracy ;  now  the  glory  of  their  day  was  departed. 
Under  the  archway  of  one  we  entered,  where  sat,  in  etei-nal 
twilight,  an  old  woman  over  a  pan  of  charcoal,  at  an  open 
glass  door  leading  into  a  black  hole,  the  air  exuding  from 
which  was  a  heavy  abomination,  of  which  fried  lard,  cab- 
bage-water and  stale  tobacco  were  by  no  means  the  worst 
ingredients. 

"  Is  Monsieur  Felicien  Ismael  at  home  ?  " 

"  Up  three  pair  of  stairs  —  first  door  to  the  left  —  pull  the 
string." 

"  Miss  Rita,  mum,"  said  Betsy,  as  we  ascended  the  great 
stone  stairs,  with  the  traces  of  gilding  still  upon  the  banis- 
ters, and  of  long-faded  frescoes  on  the  walls,  "Miss  Rita, 
mum,  I  have  it  on  my  conshins  your  coming  to  these  strange 
outlandish  kind  of  places.  Whei'ever  are  we  going  now  ? 
As  long  as  you  goes  only  to  shops  and  in  the  open  streets, 
and  I  don't  say  nothink,  though  I  ain't  clear  in  my  mind 
that's  right;  but  up  these  dark  places,  right  away  at  the 
other  hend  of  I'aris,  then  into  strange  houses  —  we  might 
be  murdered  and  all,  before " 

I  pulled  the  "bell ;  its  loud  tingle  drowned  Betsy's  remon- 
strance. But,  to  say  the  truth,  I  began  to  feel  not  quite  so 
bold  myself;  and  a  certain  nervousness  in  my  manner  did 
not  escape  tl  le  keen  eyes  of  my  little  maid.  A  man,  with 
strong  Jewis'n  features,  opened  the  door.  "  Monsieur  Ismael 
was  engage*"!.  What  was  my  business  ?  Would  I  walk  in 
and  wait  ?  " 


AN   ATJTOBIOGRAPnT.  63 

« I  say,  Miss  Rita,  do  let  us  go  back,"  says  Betsy,  sotto 
voce,  pulling  at  my  cloak. 

I  hesitated.  No  ;  I  would  go  in,  after  coming  so  far,  and 
wait  a  little,  at  all  events.  "We  were  shown  into  a  room  lit- 
erally filled  with  pictures,  and  with  nothing  else,  save  two 
or  three  threadbare  satin  chairs,  on  one  of  which  I  sat,  while 
Betsy  stood,  transfixed  with  horror,  gazing  round  her  on  the- 
walls.  I  confess  I  was  somewhat  startled  myself  as  I 
glanced  at  the  pictures  which  decorated  them.  They  were 
Venuses,  more  or  less,  by  whatever  denomination  it  might 
have  pleased  the  painters  to  style  them  — "  Susannas," 
"  Eves,"  or  "  Lucretias."  I  knew  enough  of  painting  now 
to  see  that  none  of  these  were  original,  and  few  even  good 
copies.  The  frames,  however,  were  very  gorgeous.  There 
was  a  vile  edition  of  Titian's  famous  Venus  —  that  remarka- 
bly plain  woman  on  a  couch,  whose  attendants  in  the  back- 
ground are  rummaging  through  a  chest  after  some  not-un- 
called-for garment.  The  expression  of  Betsy's  face,  and  her 
exclamation  of  horror,  as  she  looked  at  this  picture,  was 
really  comical,  and  made  me  laugh,  though  I  seriously  be- 
gan to  fear  that  Monsieur  Ismael's  taste  was  not  for  pure- 
looking  virgins,  plentifully  clothed,  such  as  I  had  to  offer. 
Two  or  thee  minutes  elapsed,  then  a  door  creaked  on  its 
hinges,  and  the  portiere  that  hung  over  it  was  stirred.  I 
could  see  no  one,  but  guessed  rightly  that  an  inspection  of 
us  was  taking  place,  for  a  moment  after  the  portly  form  of 
Felicien  Ismael,  lustrous,  jewelled,  in  a  brocaded  dressing- 
gown,  emerged  from  the  scarlet  curtains  and  stood  before 
me. 

"  Ha !  ma  betite  demoiselle,  is  it  you  ?  I  no  forget  your 
face  —  ravished  to  see  you  again.  In  what  will  you  use 
me  ?  Always  your  humble  serviteur.  Have  de  kindth  to 
follow  me.     It  makes  cold  in  dis  piece." 

So  saying,  he  ushered  us  into  an  adjoining  room,  which 
wore  a  far  more  comfortable  air  than  the  one  we  had  left. 


64  KiTA : 

A  large  wood  fire  burnt  in  the  chimney,  before  which  the 
remnants  of  the  Jew's  breakfast  and  his  easy-chair  were 
drawn.  A  table  with  writing  materials ;  a  table  covered 
with  snuif-boxes,  enamels,  rings,  carved  ivory,  and  valuable 
rubbish  of  all  kinds ;  a  ghiss  cabinet,  occupying  one  end  of 
the  room,  and  filled  with  rare  china;  several  pictures, 
smaller,  better  painted,  and  less  exceptional  in  subject  than 
those  I  had  already  seen,  —  these  caught  my  eye  in  the 
hasty  glance  I  gave  round  the  apartment  as  we  entered 
Ismael  handed  me  a  chair,  and  began  at  once,  with  a  very 
knowing  grin : 

"  I  tink  I  prophesied  right,  mademoiselle.  You  bring  me 
tableaux  to  dispose  ?  And  how  is  my  gut  friend,  your  papa 
—  gay  and  merry  as  ever  ?  Dat  is  gut.  Now,  let  us  see. 
Ha !  original,  I  see  —  une  Sainte  Faraille ;  and  not  after 
de  Raffael,  nor  de  Correge,  but  after  the  Nature,  straight  — 
gut  —  var  gut  —  capital !  Vere  find  you  de  model  for  dat 
head  ?  Blein  de  grace.  Je  fous  en  fais  mes  compliraens. 
I  tink  I  know  one  gentleman  who  like  —  bah !  dat  make 
you  noting.  You  want  de  monish,  at  once.  How  much  ? 
You  shakes  de  head  —  dat  will  say,  '  Monsieur  Ismael, 
give  me  so  much  as  you  can  afford.'"  And  the  Jew 
laughed  while  I  signified  my  assent,  and  waited  in  trepida- 
tion to  hear  what  he  Avould  give  me.  I  was  getting  as 
greedy  for  money  as  Ismael  himself  could  be. 

We  all  speak  of  people  as  we  find  them,  not  as  they  really 
are,  otherwise  History  must  be  rewritten.  At  the  expense 
of  gratitude  we  should  gain  consistency,  but  whether  the 
exchange  would  be  for  the  better  I  doubt.  Imagine,  for 
instance,  hearing  a  man  say,  '  So-and-so  has  been  veiy  kind 
and  generous  to  me,  but,  from  all  I  hear,  he  must  be  one  of 
the  greatest  rascals  unhung."  Of  Felicien  Ismael,  I  speak 
not  from  my  after  knowledge  of  his  character,  but  as  he 
behaved  then  to  a  struggling,  unfriended  girl,  generously 
and  kindly.     His  offer  was  more  liberal  than  I  had  dared 


AX   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  65 

hope,  and  the  bargain  being  thus  speedily  concluded,  I  rose 
to  depart. 

"  Will  you  for  to  see  de  gut  picshur  ?  I  show  you  into 
number  dree.  Not  every  one  is  admit  to  number  dree  — 
ma  ponne  demoiselle.  Number  one  chamber  be  for  de  old 
gentlemen  what  wants  for  to  puy  de  grand  historic  tableaux 
for  dere  salles-a-manger.  Noting  too  bad  for  dem.  Here 
be  number  two,  for  dem  what  knows  a  little  more,  and  tinks 
dey  knows  a  great  deal.  Are  dey  satisfaits  in  number  one, 
dey  come  not  to  number  two.  Vere  I  see  dey  really  know 
the  gut  over  de  bat,  den  I  opens  number  dree ;  but  dat  is 
var  selten.  Tiens  !  je  fous  mettrai  au  courant  de  tout  cela ! " 
and  he  opened  a  small  door,  over  which  hung  a  tapestry- 
curtain.  We  entered  a  much  smaller  room  —  indeed,  hardly 
more  than  a  closet  —  but  filled  with  pictures,  of  which 
several  stood  on  easels,  and  had  curtains  before  them. 
Ismael  drew  back  one,  and  bade  me  admire  the  RafFael  it 
jealously  protected.  An  exquisite  little  pictui-e  it  was,  and 
I  remained  lost  in  admiration  before  it  for  some  minutes, 
during  which  the  servant  entered,  and  said  something  to  his 
master  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Show  him  in  here,"  said  the  latter  aloud.  "  I  have  no 
mystcres  from  the  gut  young  gentleman.  Make  him  for  to 
come  in  here." 

My  back  was  to  the  door,  so  that  I  could  not  see  the 
person  who  entered,  while  Betsy,  in  a  strongly  objective 
attitude,  took  up  a  position  beside  me,  scowling  at  Raffael, 
scowling  at  Ismael,  scowling  at  the  new-comer. 

"  Good  morning,  Ismael.  I  came  to  speak  to  you  about 
that  Giiirlandajo  for  my  uncle.  What  have  you  done  about 
it  {  He  is  afraid  of  its  escaping  him,  and  says  you  are  to 
secure  it  on  the  best  terms  you  can." 

"  Tank  your  var  gut  uncle  for  de  confidence  he  place  in 
me.     He  know  me  —  dat  I  always  does  de  ting — " 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  he  knows  all  that.     Now  about  that  Majolica 

5 


66  RITA : 

you  were  speaking  of  the  other  clay.  Some  of  the  Guas- 
tagni  family,  I  think  you  said,  wanted  to  part  with  it.  My 
mother  is  very  fond  of  China,  and  if  this  is  really  good,  as 
I  am  going  over  to  England  next  week,  I  would  take  it. 
But  how  many  plates  are  there  ?  and  what  are  they  likely 
to  cost  ?  I  am  not  like  my  uncle,  you  know,  Ismael,  who 
doesn't  care  what  he  gives  for  these  things  —  so  you  must 
find  out  for  me  first." 

"I  have  procurated  dis  to  show  you  for  specimen,  my 
gut  sar.  Veritable  Maestro  Giorgio,  you  see  —  dere  be  his 
mark."  And,  he  reversed  a  dish  that  stood  on  the  table : 
whereupon  the  two  fell  into  a  discussion  as  to  its  merits, 
which,  not  understanding  much  of,  I  suddenly  recollected 
that  the  business  which  brought  me  had  been  concluded 
some  time,  and  that  I  had  no  longer  any  excuse  for  being 
here.  I  turned  round,  but  felt  shy  of  interrupting  the 
learned  disquisition  on  clays.  The  stranger  was  a  young 
man,  above  the  middle  height,  with  very  remarkable  eyes, 
and  a  brow  upon  which  the  light  fell  broadly  and  evenly. 
Otherwise,  he  struck  me  as  rather  the  reverse  of  handsome ; 
but  certainly  not  comraon-place-looking  ;  a  head  to  single 
out  and  remember  from  a  crowd. 

"  Good  morning,  Monsieur  Ismael,"  said  I,  moving 
towards  the  door ;  "  don't  let  me  disturb  you  —  good 
morning." 

"  Ah !  ma  betite  demoiselle  !  You  no  leave,  sans  foir  de 
Correge,  et  tons  mes  tresors  ?     You  not  see  noting  — " 

"  I  must  go,  indeed.  I  am  sure  you  have  a  great  many 
things  I  should  like  to  see  but  I  cannot  stay  ;  I  ought  to  be 
at  home.  Be  kind  enough,"  I  added,  in  a  low  voice,  as  he 
held  open  the  door,  "  not  to  mention  my  name  — you  under- 
stand." 

My  eyes  for  an  instant  met  those  of  the  stranger,  and  I 
was  struck  with  their  very  peculiar  expression.  Whether 
be  had  heard,  or  guessed  what  I  had  said,  I  know  not.     A 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  67 

minute  afterwards  I  was  in  the  street,  feeling  lighter  at 
heart  than  I  had  done  for  many  a  long  day. 

But  my  morning's  adventures  were  not  over.  There  was 
a  cuiiosity-shop  at  the  corner  of  a  narrow  street  that  lay  in 
our  way  home.  I  stopped  for  a  moment  at  the  door,  at- 
tracted by  the  picturesque  effect  of  armor  and  old  lace, 
carved  oak  and  Venice  glass,  grouped  together  in  studied 
confusion  —  one  of  the  haunts  of  artists  and  lovers  of  hric-a 
hrac,  so  common  in  Paris.  Suddenly  I  remained  transfixed 
by  a  face  within.  I  could  not  move  or  take  my  eyes  from 
it.  Not  that  it  was  beautiful  —  at  least  it  was  a  very  faded 
beauty  — •  but  so  intensely  wretched,  so  expressive  of  the 
deepest  heart-misery,  that  neither  before  or  since  have  I 
ever  seen  a  face  that  so  powerfully  told  its  tale.  It  be- 
longed to  a  young  woman,  shabbily  dressed  in  black,  who 
was  addressing  the  ill-favoi-ed  old  dame  at  the  counter  ;  nor 
was  it  difficult  to  gather  that  the  former  was  endeavoring 
to  dispose  of  some  singular-shaped  vases  she  held  in  her 
hand. 

"Bah!"  said  the  old  woman,  "see,  they  are  cracked! 
And  as  to  their  being  real  Bernard  de  Palissy,  I  don't  believe 
it.  It  may  be  or  may  not  —  my  husband  would  know,  but 
he  is  not  at  home.  If  you  like  it,  I  will  give  you  twenty 
francs,  or  you  can  leave  them  and  call  again." 

"  But,  mon  Dieu  !  I  must  have  the  money  at  once,  or  it 
will  be  too  late,  and  they  are  worth  fifty  francs  each,  at  least, 
madame,  perhaps  much  more,  but  I  would  not  part  with  them 
for  any  money,  if  I  were  not  in  such  distress.  Indeed, 
madame,  it  is  the  truth.  I  have  kept  them  to  the  last,  and 
now  —  " 

"  I  have  offered  you  all  I  can  —  you  may  take  it  or  not," 
said  the  woman,  brutally.  Then  turning  to  me,  as  I  stood 
upon  the  threshold,  already  half  in  the  shop,  "  Is  there  any 
thing  I  can  show  you,  mademoiselle  ?  " 

"  Ah !    young  lady,"  said  the  woman  in  black,  clasping 


G8  EiTA : 

her  hands  suddenly,  "  have  pity  on  an  unfortunate  woman. 
You  are  young  and  happy  —  may  you  never  know  such 
misery  as  mine.  My  child  is  dying,  and  I  have  no  money. 
Buy  my  beautiful  vases  of  me.  I  have  kept  them  tlirough 
all  these  years,  for  my  mother's  sake,  and  only  now  —  " 

Here  her  voice  was  choked  with  sobs,  and  she  sank  upon 
a  chair,  in  a  perfect  convulsion  of  grief.  I  longed  to  slip  into 
her  hand  one  of  the  gold  pieces  I  had  just  received,  but  I 
reflected  that  the  money  was  not  mine  ;  that  I  must  be  just 
before  I  could  afford  the  luxury  of  benevolence  ;  and  I  there- 
fore did  the  only  thing  that  occurred  to  me  at  the  moment  to 
do.  I  wrote  with  a  pencil,  on  the  back  of  Ismael's  card, 
"  The  bearer,  who  is  in  distress,  is  sent  to  you  by  M.  P." 

"  Go  immediately  to  this  address,  and  take  the  vases  with 
you.  If  the  china  is  good,  a  person  you  will  see  there  is  sure 
to  give  you  a  fair  price  for  it.  Show  him  this  paper.  If  he 
should  not  purchase  it  —  where  do  you  live  ?  " 

She  put  into  my  hand  a  card,  on  which  was  written, 
"  Marie  Dumont,  Brodeuse,"  and  her  face  thanked  me  far 
beyond  words. 

"  You  are  a  brodeuse  ?  Pei-haps  I  may  be  able  to  get  you 
some  work ;  at  all  events,  I  will  come  and  see  you.  Do  not 
despair.  I  am  sure  you  will  sell  your  vases,  if  they  are  what 
you  say." 

The  woman  of  the  shop,  who  saw  that  she  was  losing  a 
good  bargain,  I  suppose,  here  changed  her  tone,  and  struck 
in  Avith  a  bland  voice, 

"  I  am  sure  my  husband  will  offer  as  much  as  any  one,  if 
you  will  leave  the  vases,  as  I  said,  until  —  " 

"No,  no,"  cried  the  other  impetuously,  and  seizing  my 
hand  ;  "  this  young  lady  —  God  reward  you,  mademoiselle  ! 
—  I  go  at  once."  She  took  up  the  vases,  and  covering  them 
carefully  with  her  shawl,  "  Whatever  is  the  result,  I  shall 
remember  your  kindness  ;  and  I  believe  now  that  God  will 
not  desert  me,  since  he  has  sent  me  one  friend." 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  G9 

I  watched  her  hurry  down  the  street  until  she  was  out  of 
sio'ht,  and  then  walked  rapidly  home.  Betsy  was  actually 
frothing  with  indignation.  The  visit  to  the  Jew  was  bad 
enough,  but  this  last  little  scene,  which  had  passed  in  much 
less  time  than  I  have  taken  to  tell  it,  irritated  her  almost  more. 
She  pronounced  it  to  be  the  greatest  ridic'lousness  she  ever 
seed  ;  moreover,  that  she  did  n't  know  what  ever  had  come 
over  me,  but  I  did  now  the  queerest  things  any  one  ever  heerd 
tell  of,  with  many  other  exordiums  which  I  Avill  spare  the 
reader. 

"  Betsy,"  said  I,  turning  to  her  at  last,  "  choose  how  I  an; 
to  behave  in  future  towards  you.  If  you  wish  to  retain  my 
confidence,  you  must  be  faithful,  silent,  and  obedient;  but 
I  warn  you,  you  will  find  me  doing  many  things  you  don't 
approve  of.  Is  it  to  be  war  or  peace  between  us  ?  Shall  I 
brine:  Fanchette  the  honne  with  me  next  time  ?  " 

The  little  woman's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  she  was 
silent  the  remainder  of  the  way  home. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

I  FOUND  Miss  Lateward  seated,  like  Urania,  before  her 
globe  in  the  school-room  ;  and  her  greeting  had  something  of 
the  lofty  solemnity  that  might  have  belonged  to  that  goddess. 
I  took  hold  of  both  her  hands. 

«  You  are,  of  course,  surprised,  dear  Miss  Lateward,  at 
my  having  gone  out  for  the  whole  morning,  without  letting 
you  know,  and  with  only  Betsy.  You  will  expect  to  hear 
where  I  have  been,  and  demand  a  promise  of  me  not  to  repeat 
the  offence.  Well,  I  will  tell  you  as  much  as  I  can,  and 
promise  nothing,  until  you  have  heard  me  fairly.  On  the 
other  hand,  your  telling  papa  and  mamma  will  do  no  good, 
but  a  great  deal  of  harm,  as  you  will  judge." 

Thereupon,  I  related  as  much  of  the  whole  affair,  from 
the  commencement,  as  was  necessary  for  the  right  under- 
standing of  my  conduct ;  informing  her  of  my  unsuccessful 
attempts  to  obtain  money  from  my  father,  which  part  of  the 
story  evidently  caused  Miss  Lateward  no  surprise.  It  was 
the  part  /  had  played  throughout  which  puzzled  her.  She 
had  not  emnsaged  the  position,  as  the  French  say.  It  was 
a  new  and  almost  unexampled  one.  What  was  the  right 
thing  to  be  said  ?  She  cleared  her  throat,  and  hardly  knew 
how  to  befrin. 

"  Eeally,  I  am  a  good  deal  surprised  —  a  good  deal,"  she 
said,  at  last.  "  This  is  a  most  exti'aordinary  step.  I  cannot 
but  honor  your  motives,  Marguerite,  which  are  laudable ; 
yet  I  should  be  but  ill  performing  my  duty,  did  I  fail  to  point 
out  to  what  unpleasant,  nay,  dangerous  consequences,  a  repe- 

(70) 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  71 

tition  of  such  conduct  might  lead.  You  say  you  are  no 
longer  a  child  —  true  ;  that  is  the  more  reason  for  beins;  cir- 
cumspect  in  your  behavior.  This  Jew  maj  be  a  respectable 
character  —  far  be  it  from  me  to  say  he  is  not  —  only,  really, 
you  can  know  nothing  of  him.  And  just  imagine,  now,  any 
one  by  chance  seeing  you  there  in  his  house,  it  would  have 
a  very  odd  effect."  (I  was  so  glad  now  I  had  not  mentioned 
the  stranger  at  Ismael's.)  "  If  any  one  recognized  you  as 
Colonel  Percival's  daughter,  he  would  think  it  very  strange, 
to  say  the  least.  The  world  is  not  lenient  in  its  judgments, 
my  young  friend.  The  purest  actions  are  often  misin- 
terpreted. Then,  as  regards  the  fact  of  your  disposing  of 
your  paintings  unknown  to  your  parents,  it  is  not  what  many 
persons  would  approve  of,  certainly.  Still,  the  circumstances 
are  pecuUar,  and  I  only  advise  your  asking  Lady  Dacre's 
opinion.  If  you  have  her  sanction,  I  can  say  nothing ;  but 
until  then,  I  must  desire  that  you  will  not  repeat  these  clan- 
destine visits,  under  pain  of  my  revealing  the  whole  circum- 
stance to  Mrs.  Percival." 

"  I  promise  the  more  readily,  that  I  hope  there  may  be  no 
further  necessity  for  them.  The  sum  I  received  this  morning 
very  nearly  clears  this  odious  livery-stable  bill.  There  are 
only  twenty  francs  left,  and   I   hope  no  more  bills   may 


come  in." 


"  If  there  are,  we  must  devise  other  means  of  meeting  the 
difRculty,  until  you  hear  from  you  aunt,  at  all  events."  And 
my  good  governess,  putting  her  hand  into  her  leather  reti- 
cule, drew  from  it  twenty  francs,  and  laid  them  on  the  table. 
"  There,  my  love,  say  nothing  about  it  to  any  one ;  it  will 
make  your  mind  easy  for  the  present,  and  at  some  future 
time  you  will  repay  me.  I  have  no  need  for  the  money,  1 
assure  you,  and  I  greatly  prefer  employing  it  in  aidmg  you 
to  do  an  honest  action." 

And  so  I  kissed  her,  which  I  very  rarely  did,  and  sat 
down  once  again  as  the  child  before  my  good  governess,  the 


72  RITA : 

old  respect  and  esteem  having  warmed  within  me  into  some- 
thing more,  in  those  few  minutes. 

I  said  to  my  mother  that  afternoon,  "  May  I  take  some  of 
that  jelly  you  had  made  yesterday  to  a  poor  woman  whose 
child  is  ni  ?  " 

"  111 !  why,  good  gracious,  my  dear,  where  did  you  hear 
of  her  ?  I  neVer  see  any  poor  people  about ;  those  things 
are  so  well  managed  here.  Her  child  ill  did  you  say  ?  Poor 
thing !  have  you  seen  her  ?  " 

"  Yes,  this  morning,  and  I  promised  to  go  and  visit  her. 
She  is  a  brodeuse,  and  I  have  been  up  to  Madame  Gobe- 
mouche,  who  has  given  me  some  work  for  her.  May  I  take 
her  the  jelly  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  certainly  ;  do,  dear  ;  only  I  hope  there  is  no  chance 
of  fever  or  any  thing  of  that  kind  —  smallpox,  you  know  — 
I  have  a  horror  of  it ;  and  then  for  Hose  and  the  boys,  do 
you  think  it  is  a  clean  place  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  mamma,  it  may  be  very  dirty ;  but  Aunt 
Mary  goes  about  among  dirty  cottages  when  she  is  at  home, 
and  if  one  never  goes  into  any  but  clean  houses,  it  seems  to 
me  one  can  know  very  little  about  the  poor.  There  are 
plenty  here,  only  they  are  kept  out  of  sight." 

"  Ah !  well,  that  may  be  true,  but  in  the  country,  you 
know,  it  is  a  different  sort  of  thing;  poking  about  in  that 
way,  into  all  sorts  of  places,  in  a  town  where  no  one  knows 
who  you  are,  doesn't  do.  But  I  suppose  there  w  a  good 
deal  of  distress  here,  after  all.  I  remember,"  she  added, 
thoughtfully,  "  the  bishop  used  to  have  a  charity  sermon, 
eveiy  now  and  then,  for  the  poor  of  Paris,  but  I  never  heard 
of  any  one  going  about  to  visit  them.  I  don't  think  it  is  the 
thing.     I  don't  think  it  is  done,  really." 

"  Miss  Lateward  will  go  with  rae,"  said  I,  not  noticing  the 
last  observation,  but  adroitly  taking  the  question  for  granted ; 
"  you  have  such  confidence  in  her,  mamma." 

"  Oh,  yes,  a  most  excellent  person.     I  really  don't  know 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  73 

what  we  should  do  without  her  now."  And  so  the  conversa- 
tion ended. 

Miss  Lateward  and  I  found  out,  with  some  difficuUy,  the 
address  Marie  Dumont  hud  given.  Slie  lived  in  a  narrow 
court,  and  on  the  sixth  floor  of  a  large  house,  the  walls  of 
which  had  a  peeled,  scorbutic  look,  with  large  slops  of  water 
on  the  stairs,  and  children  in  all  states  of  deshabille  swarm- 
ing about  the  banisters.  Pots  of  flowers  were  at  several  of 
the  windows,  and  lines,  with  linen  to  dry,  crossed  the  court, 
which  was  also  pervaded  by  a  general  smell  of  ironing  and 
vegetables. 

Marie  opened  the  door  to  us  herself,  and  when  she  saw 
me,  a  bright  smile  lit  up  her  pale  features  as  she  begged  us 
to  walk  in. 

"  Mon  Dieu !  mademoiselle,  how  shall  I  ever  thank  you. 
Rather  let  me  thank  le  bon  Dieu  for  having  sent  you,  in  my 
distress,  as  His  good  angel.  If  I  had  not  met  you  where 
should  I  be  now  ?  Ah,  the  vile  woman,  who  wanted  to  cheat 
me,  and  to-morrow,  or  next  day,  with  her  twenty  francs,  I 
should  have  been  as  badly  off  as  ever !  And  that  good,  noble 
gentleman  has  not  only  given  a  hundred  and  fifty  francs  for 
my  vases,  he  has  been  here  himself  to  see  my  child,  and 
brought  a  doctor  witli  him,  and  finding  that  the  story  I  had 
fold  him  was  true,  he  has  promised  to  come  again,  and  says 
I  shall  not  want  for  work." 

"Indeed?  Has  Monsieur  Ismael  done  all  this?  I  am 
delighted ;  but  in  truth,  Marie,  I  did  not  expect  him  to  do 
more  than  buy  your  vases." 

"It  was  not  Monsieur  Ismael,  mademoiselle,  but  a  tall, 
younger  gentleman,  who  happened  to  be  there  when  I  was 
admitted  to  Monsieur  Ismael  after  sending  in  your  paper, 
and  when  they  had  seen  my  vases,  the  English  gentleman  — 
for  I  saw  he  was  English  —  said  he  would  buy  them,  and 
that  Monsieur  Ismael  should  name  their  price,  and  they  talked 
for  some  time,  and  Monsieur  Ismael  said  that  if  they  were 


RITA  : 


not  cracked  they  would  be  worth  five  hundred  francs;  as 
they  were,  he  would  say  a  hundred,  and  that  he  would  f^ive 
himself;  whereupon  the  other  said  he  would  add  fifty  more, 
for  he  was  sure  he  could  not  get  them  for  that  money  in  a 
shop,  and  so  I  came  back  a  rich  woman,  and  am  now  a  happy 
one  too,  for  my  boy  is  much  better.  The  doctor  gave  him 
some  cooling  draught,  and,  indeed,  I  believe  he  never  was 
as  ill  as  I  feared.  Ah,  mademoiselle,  a  mother's  fears  with 
only  one  child,  you  will  know  them  some  day,  only,"  she 
added,  with  a  peculiarly  sad  expression,  "not  as  I  have 
known  them.  Will  you  see  the  little  angel  ?  "  And  she 
took  me  up  to  a  crib  where  a  pale  child  of  five  years  old 
was  lying  fast  asleep. 

"  He  is  a  pretty  boy,  but  he  does  not  look  strong." 

"  Yes,  mademoiselle ;  the  doctor  says  he  wants  nothing 
now  but  good  nourishment,  and,  thank  God !  I  have  money 
enough  to  buy  him  plenty  now.  And  since  I  know  he 
will  live,  /  have  strength  to  live  also,  and  fight  on,"  she 
added,  with  a  low  sigh,  as  she  stooped  to  kiss  the  boy's  pale 
brow. 

''  I  have  brought  you  some  jelly,  which  I  think  the  child 
will  like ;  also  some  work,  which  you  can  do  at  your  leisure. 
The  lady  for  whom  it  is,  is  in  no  hurry,  and  we  shall  be  call- 
ing to  see  you  again  before  long." 

"  Thank  you  again,  mademoiselle,  for  all  your  kindness. 
I  told  the  gentleman  about  my  speaking  to  you,  because  of 
your  kind  face;  and  how  I  was  sure  you  would  come,  or 
send,  as  you  promised  ;  and  he  listened  to  it  all,  made- 
moiselle, for  he  is  not  like  these  gentlemen  generally,  frivo- 
lous and  wild,  but  has  something  serious  and  thoughtful, 
which  makes  one  able  to  say  any  thing  to  him.  He  prom- 
ised to  mention  me  to  a  lady,  who  would  give  me  work,  he 
said,  and  to  whom  I  am  to  apply  if  I  am  again  in  distress, 
for  he  is  leaving  Paris  shortly." 

I  was  on  the  point  of  asking  the  gentleman's  name,  when 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  75 

Miss  Lateward,  who  had  hitherto  maintained  a  solemn  si- 
lence, said,  dryly, 

"  How  Avas  it  you  kept  those  china  ornaments  so  long,  if 
you  were  in  such  distress  ?  Why  did  you  not  sell  them  be- 
fore ?  " 

"  My  old  grandmother,  who  valued  them  more  than  any 
thing  else,  lived  with  me  until  she  died,  three  months  ago. 
I  kept  them  for  her  sake  as  long  as  I  could.  They  had  come 
into  her  family  years  ago,  through  some  descendant  of  the 
Palissys,  and  she  kept  them  in  all  her  poverty,  and  would 
sooner  have  starved,  I  believe,  than  have  sold  them." 

"  You  have  been  living  alone  since  then  ?  "  pursued  Miss 
Lateward. 

«  Yes." 

*'  I  presume  you  are  a  widow  —  only  this  child  ?  " 

"  Only  this  child  —  thank  God  ! "  and  she  burst  into 
tears. 

I  was  provoked  with  Miss  Lateward  for  interrogating 
Marie  in  this  way,  and  opening  old  wounds,  so  I  hastened 
to  say, 

"You  have  found  it  hard  work,  no  doubt,  supporting 
yourself  and  child  in  this  great  city." 

"  The  cure  of  the  parish  knows  your  case,  I  suppose  ?  " 
persisted  Miss  Lateward,  in  the  same  impassible  way.  "  If 
I  apply  to  him,  he  will  be  able  to  certify  to  the  truth  of  your 
statements  ?  " 

Marie  stooped  over  the  crib,  as  if  to  arrange  the  pillow, 
and  her  cheek  flushed  crimson,  as  she  stood  up,  and  said, 

"  Yes.  Apply  to  him.  He  ivill  certify  to  the  truth  of 
what  I  have  told  you  ;  and  though  he  wiU  tell  you  somewhat 
else  besides,  if  you  are  Christian  women,  as  you  profess  to 
be  —  " 

^'■Pardon!"  interrupted  my  governess,  with  a  short,  dry 
cough,  "  I  think,  as  the  object  of  our  visit  is  accomplished, 
Marguerite,  we  had  better  be  going,  if  you  please,     /shall 


76  RITA : 

call  and  see  you  again.  Good  morning."  And  Miss  Late- 
ward  walked  out,  gathering  up  her  petticoats  preparatory  to 
a  descent. 

Marie  caught  hold  of  my  hand  and  kissed  it.  The  tears 
rushed  to  her  eyes  again  as  she  said, 

"  Forgive  me,  mademoiselle ;  I  do  not  know  what  I  say 
sometimes  —  but,  oh  !  do  not  think  too  badly  of  me.  I  shall 
never  see  you  again,  perhaps  —  but  I  shall  pray  for  you 
often,  and  I  know  now  that  God  does  hear  the  prayers,  even 
of  such  as  I  am ! " 

The  door  closed  on  her,  and  when  we  stood  in  the  street, 
Miss  Lateward  turned  to  me,  and  said, 

"  You  must  be  careful  whom  you  pick  up  in  this  kind  of 
romantic  way  about  the  streets,  Marguerite.  I  shall  make 
every  inquiry  concerning  this  person,  and  I  hope  I  may  dis- 
cover that  she  is  a  worthy  recipient  of  your  bounty ;  but  I 
confess  I  very  much  fear  it.  I  do  not  disbelieve  her  story, 
indeed,  so  far  as  it  goes  ;  but  her  manner  is  strangely  con- 
fused, and  really  altogether  unsatisfactory,  and  I  must  posi- 
tively forbid  your  repeating  this  visit  until  I  shall  have  some 
more  certain  knowledge  concerning  her  character.  In  the 
mean  time,  any  communication  upon  the  subject  of  the  work 
you  have  left  with  her  can  be  made  through  me." 

I  thought  Miss  Lateward  really  cruel  and  unjust,  and  I 
said  to  myself,  "  How  strange  that  people  who  are  generally 
kind-hearted,  can  sometimes  be  so  hard  on  others  !  "  But  I 
knew  this  was  a  sort  of  point  —  anything  connected  with 
"propriety" — upon  which  Miss  Lateward  would  be  unyield- 
ing as  stone  and  iron,  so  I  said  nothing  until  some  days  sub- 
sequently, when  I  ventured  to  ask,  as  we  were  going  out  to 
walk : 

"  Have  you  made  the  inquiries  you  promised  about  poor 
Madame  Dumont,  Miss  Lateward  ?  because  Cecile  de  Beau- 
croi  has  given  me  an  order  for  some  pocket-handkerchiefs, 
and  I  should  like  to  take  them  to-day." 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  77 

"  I  will  take  it,  my  love,  if  you  please." 

*  Why  can't  I  go  ?  What  have  you  heard  about  her  — 
any  thing  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  and  fz-om  what  I  have  heard,  I  think  it  is  advisa- 
ble you  should  abstain  from  visiting  her;  though,  under- 
stand me,  I  beUeve  she  is  very  much  to  he  pitied,  and  I  am 
far  from  wishing  to  withdraw  assistance  from  her.  There- 
fore, as  I  said  before,  I  will  be  the  bearer  of  any  thing  you 
may  have  to  send." 

"  I  do  not  understand  these  distinctions.  Either  she  is  a 
good  and  honest  woman,  or  she  is  not.  If  she  is  a  worthy 
object  of  interest,  why  should  I  not  be  allowed  to  go  and 
see  her  ?  " 

"  These  are  questions,  my  dear,  you  cannot  be  expected 
to  understand.     When  you  are  older  you  will  know." 

"  Nonsense  !  Miss  Lateward.  You  treat  me  as  if  I  were 
a  child.  You  forget  that  I  am  sixteen,  and  that  I  have  seen 
and  know  a  good  deal  more  of  the  world  than  most  young 
ladies  of  my  age." 

"You  have  not  learnt  to  govern  your  impetuosity,  my 
dear,"  said  my  governess,  with  a  mildness  which  touched 
me.  "  However,  I  will  go  so  far  as  to  say  that,  as  this  per- 
son's past  life  has  not  been  immaculate,  though  I  believe  she 
is  sincerely  repentant,  and  desirous  to  be  honest  and  well- 
conducted,  still,  there  is  a  certain  deference  to  be  paid  to  the 
world's  opinion,  as  I  told  you  the  other  day,  and  I  think  it 
far  from  desirable  that  you  should  visit  her.  In  my  case,  as 
an  elderly  person,  it  is  very  different." 

I  only  replied:  "The  world's  opinion,  dear  Miss  Lateward, 
seems  to  me  in  direct  opposition  to  the  opinion  of  a  much 
higher  Judge,  of  whom  you  read  to  me  last  Sunday,  that  he 
said  that  there  was  '  more  joy  in  Heaven  over  one  sinner 
that  repenteth,  than  over  ninety  and  nine  just  persons  that 
need  no  rf'[)entance.'  I  hope  we  are  not  of  the  ninety  and 
nine,  that  is  all." 


78  RITA: 

I  did  not  press  the  matter  further ;  and  Miss  Lateward, 
on  her  return,  said  very  little  of  her  visit,  except  that  the 
child  was  now  quite  well,  and  that  the  mother  seemed  in  no 
want  of  any  thing,  as  a  lady  had  interested  herself  about 
her,  and  had  given  her  employment.  Months  passed  before 
I  again  saw  or  heard  of  Marie  Dumont.  I  had,  happily,  no 
further  occasion  that  spring  to  apply  to  Felicien  Ismael,  or 
any  one  else  in  the  matter  of  my  pictures,  for  no  very  press- 
ing bills  of  my  father's  came  to  my  knowledge.  In  the  mean 
time,  however,  I  received  a  sanction,  upon  which  I  was  not 
slow  to  act,  in  a  letter  from  my  aunt,  of  which  I  give  an  ex- 
tract : 

"  I  applaud  heartily  the  determination  to  devote  your  tal- 
ent to  a  really  worthy  purpose  —  making  it  something  better 
than  a  young  lady's  accomjjlishment.  I  cannot  see  any  ob- 
jection to  your  paying  your  father's  debts,  even  without  his 
sanction,  in  this  way.  Many  people  would  think  differently. 
They  would  say  that,  however  ill-founded,  Colonel  Percival's 
objection  to  his  daughter's  selling  her  drawings  should  be 
sufficient  for  her.  I  cannot  think  so.  The  one  obligation 
seems  to  me  a  far  Iiigher  one  than  the  other  —  what  we  owe 
to  God's  law  of  honesty,  before  the  debt  of  obedience  to 
man,  even  though  it  be  your  own  father.  My  dear,  it  is  a 
dangerous  thing  to  counsel  a  child  to  disobey  or  to  disregard 
its  parent.  What  shall  I  say  to  you  ?  You  are  now  of  an 
age  to  know  something  of  the  difficulties  and  dangers  of  your 
position.  It  is  useless  to  ignore  them  —  to  write  as  if  they 
were  not.  You  must  face  them  boldly  —  face  them  with 
earnest  prayer,  remembering  the  words  of  that  true  philoso- 
pher who  said,  '  though  God  is  so  great  that  the  Heaven  of 
Heavens  cannot  contain  him,  yet  he  dwells  here '  —  pointing 
at  the  same  time  to  his  breast.  You  have  that  counsellor : 
the  weakest  among  us  may  have  him  who  earnestly  seeks 
him.  This  is  the  only  advice  I  can  give  you,  my  dear  niece, 
which  will  suit  all  emergencies  and  all  seasons  in  life.     But 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHT.  79 

there  is  that  other  and  lower  wisdom,  called  '  worldly,'  which 
you  must  try  and  gain.  You  are  too  impulsive.  I  foresee 
that  it  -will  lead  you  among  thorns  and  briars,  unless  you  put 
a  strong  curb  on  that  impetuous  charger  of  yours.  Why, 
even  in  your  letter  to  me  he  snorts,  and  kicks,  and  champs 
his  bit,  upon  the  subject  of  that  poor  French  woman,  whom 
you  seem  to  think  Miss  Lateward  treats  coldly  and  unjustly, 
while  she  seems  to  vie  to  have  behaved  with  great  prudence 
and  good  sense.  And  to  return  to  the  subject  of  your  pic- 
tures, understand  me,  I  utterly  disapprove  of  the  method  in 
which  you  carried  out  your  good  intentions.  In  the  first 
place,  I  hate  mysteries  —  underhand  transactions  of  any 
kind  —  not  only  because  they  destroy  the  freshness  and  in- 
genuousness of  the  character ;  but  in  the  world-wise  point  of 
view,  nothing  for  a  woman  is  so  ill-advised.  The  most  inno- 
cent actions,  when  masked,  can  wear  the  look  of  guilt.  I 
had  a  friend  who  used  to  go  to  market  with  such  a  ridicu- 
lous air  of  mystery,  stealth  and  precaution,  carefully  avoid- 
ing every  one,  and  thickly  veiled,  that  I  was  not  surprised 
when  I  heard  it  whispered,  with  a  shake  of  the  head,  that 
she  had  an  assignation  every  morning.  Now,  I  am  very 
glad  that  your  visit  to  Monsieur  Ismael  turned  out  so  well ; 
but  it  was  a  mistake,  and  must  not  be  repeated.  What  I 
advise  yoy  to  do,  since  you  find  you  can  turn  your  talent  to 
such  proritable  account,  is  to  tell  your  mother  all,  in  the  first 
place.  Say  that  I  see  no  objection  to  your  selling  your 
pictures  — on  the  contrary,  that  I  approve  of  it.  Miss 
Lateward  will,  I  am  sure  (having  your  mother's  sanction), 
cjnsent  to  be  the  medium  through  whom  you  can  negotiate 
With  Ismael,  or  any  otlier  dealer.  I  am  so  much  a  friend  to 
openness  that  I  wish  it  were  possible  for  you  to  tell  your 
father ;  but,  if  he  did  not  actually  forlid  it,  I  foresee  that  it 
would  frustrate  the  good  results  that  may  arise  from  your 
having  this  small  fund  at  hand  for  any  exigency.  Write  to 
me  fully,  and  at  once,  should  such  occur.     I  promise,  for  the 


80  RITA:  AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

present,  I  will  not  send  you  any  money,  should  such  scrupu- 
lous fears  deter  you,  as  in  this  instance,  from  asking  my  ad- 
vice. To  say  the  truth,  this  has  been  a  very  hard  winter 
with  us ;  as  I  have  had  to  do  more  for  our  poor  people  than 
any  former  year,  and  have  had  no  rents,  I  do  not  find  my 
pocket  very  heavy.  These  severe  March  winds  have  been 
very  trying  to  Emmy.  She  has  a  cough  which  makes  me 
anxious,  and  I  fear  we  must  spend  next  winter  abroad.  A 
friend  of  ours  is  going  in  his  yacht  to  the  Mediterranean  in 
August,  and  has  offered  to  take  us,  but  nothing  is  determined 
on,  till  I  have  taken  Emmy  up  to  London  to  see  Sir  James 
Clark,"  etc. 

I  followed  my  aunt's  advice  strictly,  and  during  the  ensu- 
ing summer,  many  were  the  little  comforts  I  was  able  to 
procure  for  my  mother,  many  the  petty  annoyances  I  was 
able  to  relieve  by  the  sale  of  my  sketches  and  pictures, 
which  under  Miss  Lateward's  able  management,  produced 
very  fair  sums.  She  did  not  apply  to  Felicien  Ismael ;  he 
lived  so  far  off,  and  my  good  governess  seemed  to  have  such 
an  unconquerable  dislike  to  the  idea,  that  I  did  not  urge  it. 
At  length  Barac  returned,  ostensibly  from  visiting  some 
members  of  the  house  of  Barac,  in  Amsterdam ;  in  reality, 
as  I  knew  perfectly  well,  from  negotiating  important  busi- 
ness connected  with  tobacco  and  the  fine  arts,  half  over 
Germany.  I  found  him  very  ready,  as  I  knew  he  would 
be,  to  assist  me  in  every  M'ay,  and  from  that  time  forward 
the  occasional  sale  of  my  pictures  was  both  more  easily  and 
more  profitably  conducted. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

One  afternoon  in  the  December  following,  I  was  going 
into  the  drawing-room  to  sit  with  my  mother,  as  I  always 
did  towards  dusk,  when  on  opening  the  door,  I  heard  the 
voice  of  a  visitor,  and  according  to  my  wont  was  retreating, 
when  my  mother  called  out. 

"Is  that  you,  Rita?  Come  here.  I  want  to  introduce 
you  to  Lady  Greybrook,  who  has  not  seen  you  since  you 
were  eight  years  old." 

"  I  suppose  you  don't  remember  me,"  said  a  shadow  in 
the  twilight,  di'awing,  with  soft-gloved  fingers  my  hand  into 
a  nest  of  sable  fur. 

"  Yes,  I  do.  I  remember  perfectly  going  to  see  you  in 
the  Place  Vendome,  and  your  giving  me  a  pair  of  shoes." 

"  Only  think  of  your  remembering  that !  But  hoAV  tall 
she  is  grown,  Mrs.  Percival !  Do  you  know,  when  Colonel 
Percival  told  me  last  night  at  the  Embassy  that  my  little 
friend  was  grown  up  and  ready  to  come  out,  I  could  hardly 
believe  it.  IIow  old  it  makes  one !  It  seems  only  the 
other  day.     Why,  she  can't  be  more  than  fifteen,  surely  ?  " 

"  Seventeen,  last  month.  She  has  grown  very  much  this 
last  year  and  improved;  she  promised  at  one  time  to  be 
very  short.  But  I  must  really  ring  for  the  lamp,  that  you 
may  see  her." 

"  Do ;  I  hate  talking  to  people  without  knowing  what 
they  are  like.  I  am  a  great  physiognomist,  and  make  up 
my  mind  about  characters  at  once,  and  never  change.    That 

6  (81) 


82  KiTA : 

is  the  way  I  used  to  choose  my  Bedouins,  when  I  crossed 
the  Desert." 

"  Ah,  really  ;  curious  !  You  've  been  a  great  traveller, 
by-the-by,  since  we  saw  you.  How  did  you  like  the  East  ? 
Very  hot  you  must  have  found  it,  and  living  under  a  tent, 
and  altogether,  so  odd  ?  " 

"  I  liked  it  immensely,  except  the  fever,  which  nearly 
carried  me  off;  but  I  have  a  charmed  life,  I  believe,  and 
nine  of  them,  like  a  cat.  In  my  Juive  errante  life,  I  have 
had  so  many  miraculous  escapes!  Retui-ning  to  civihzed 
life,  at  first,  seemed  horridly  tame.  I  broke  myself  in  at 
Naples  for  a  year,  which  is  better  than  any  other  capital, 
more  exciting.  Then  I  tried  returning  to  London ;  but  I 
could  no];  endure  the  state  of  social  fog  for  more  than  one 
season.  I  should  have  committed  suicide,  or  done  some- 
thing shocking,  if  I  had  stayed." 

"  Where  have  you  been  since  then  ?  " 

"  Oh,  travelling  about.  In  the  summer  at  Baden  or  some 
other  German  spa ;  in  the  winter  at  Rome  or  Florence  ; 
and  last  winter  at  St.  Petersburg,  where  my  brother  Claren- 
del  is  ambassador,  you  know." 

"  Ah !  that  must  have  made  it  pleasant ;  but  do  tell  me 
how  you  liked  the  society  ?  " 

"  Oh !  it  is  just  what  one  would  expect.  The  women 
have  the  most  recherchees  toilettes,  the  most  splendid  dia- 
monds, and  the  most  charming  manners  in  the  world;  but 
with  all  its  outward  refinement  there  is  a  good  deal  of  bar- 
barism au  fond.  Like  the  icicles  hanging  round  one's 
window,  the  conversation  is  very  glittering  and  pointed ;  in 
reality  nothing  but  frozen  water.  Then  the  men  are  often 
such  brutes,  and  one  hears  of  such  barbarities,-  that  take 
away  one's  appetite  for  breakfast,  which,  as  I  never  have  a 
large  one,  is  a  bore.  I  amused  myself  for  a  short  time 
uHtil  the  novelty  of  the  tiling  wore  off,  and  then  I  came 
away." 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  83 

The  lamp  was  now  brought  in,  and  while  Lady  Grey- 
orook  proceeded  with  Russian  sang  froid  to  examine  me 
from  head  to  foot,  I  will  do  the  same  by  her,  for  the  reader's 
future  recognition. 

I  remembered  a  woman  fair  and  brilliant ;  I  beheld  one 
faded,  withered  up,  and  worn,  with  eyes  whose  fire  seemed 
to  have  burnt  down  into  their  sockets,  and  to  have  con- 
sumed, as  it  were,  the  whole  upper  part  of  the  face,  though 
still  the  embers  smouldered  at  the  further  end  of  those  dark 
caverns,  sending  out  spc'irks  ever  and  anon,  and  lighting  up 
the  sharp,  but  still  handsome  features,  with  a  feverish  flash. 
Those  features  were  seldom  in  repose ;  a  sort  of  restless 
eagerness  possessed  the  mouth,  even  when  she  was  not 
speaking ;  and  though  the  eye  no  longer  gleamed  and  shone 
and  spai'kled  with  the  brilliancy  that  had  been  so  remark- 
able in  youth,  it  was  never  still  an  instant ;  the  most  fa- 
tiguing eye  to  watch,  and  giving  one  an  impression  that  it 
never  could  relax  its  vigilance  for  a  single  moment,  or  suc- 
cumb under  the  influence  of  sleep.  She  talked  with  a  hit- 
or-miss  kind  of  cleverness,  which,  while  it  is  less  alarming 
than  actual  wit,  often  passes  for  such,  when  assisted  by  a 
natural  oflT-hand  manner.  Hers,  which  was  partly  natural 
to  her,  partly  the  result  of  the  atmosphere  in  which  she 
lived,  was  particularly  agreeable ;  it  was  said,  indeed,  that 
her  "  success  "  had  always  been  greatly  owing  to  this  charm. 
What  this  "  success "  was,  I  shall  presently  inform  the 
reader.  I  will  only  add  now,  that  she  was  magnificently 
dressed ;  and  I  had  time  to  observe  that  her  hands  and  feet 
were  remarkably  small  and  well-shaped.  Suddenly  turning 
to  my  mother,  she  exclaimed : 

"  Much  more  like  her  father  than  you,  and  I  see  she  has 
none  of  the  mauvaise  honte  of  sixteen.  She  has  been  ex- 
amining me  as  curiously  and  narrowly  as  I  have  her! 
Bravo !  that  unblushing  face  is  a  paternal  inheritance,  also, 
dear   Mrs.    Percival!      You    Russboroughs    are   a   modest 


84  KIT  A : 

race,"  she  added,  laughing.  "  But  what  do  you  mean  by 
not  bringing  her  out  ?  Your  husband  and  I  must  talk  about 
it.  These  youthful  roses  and  lilies  go  by  so  soon"  (with 
a  sigh),  "  that  it  is  a  pei'fect  sin  the  world  should  lose  a 
w^hole  year  of  them !  She  is  quite  old  enough  to  make 
her  debut." 

My  mother  smiled  languidly,  and  said  something  about 
her  health,  and  my  fondness  for  books ;  and  Rose  entex'ing 
at  that  moment,  Lady  Greybrook  proceeded  to  inspect  her, 
as  she  had  done  me ;  but,  curious  to  say,  the  great  lady  did 
not  appear  to  admire  my  beautiful  sister  as  much  as  I  had 
expected.  She  only  remarked,  that  she  looked  dehcate,  and 
was  very  like  my  mother — quite  a  Russborough.  Yet,  in 
my  eyes,  every  month  had  but  added  to  my  sister's  grace 
and  loveliness.  She  seemed  to  me  the  very  creature  to 
make  what  I  had  heard  called  "  a  sensation  "  in  the  world. 
She  was  not  clever ;  she  had  not  even  a  great  variety  of 
expression,  it  is  true  ;  but  for  ball-room  triumphs  I  could 
not  conceive  this  to  be  necessary.  I  was  surprised,  there- 
fore, that  she  did  not  make  a  gi-eater  impression  on  Lady 
Greybrook  —  and  so,  I  saw,  Avas  my  mother. 

"  Good-by,"  said  the  former,  at  length,  rising  from  the 
sofa ;  "  I  hope  you  will  let  me  see  a  great  deal  of  your 
daughter.  I  am  so  fond  of  young  people.  Will  you  come, 
Marguerite,  and  see  me  to-morrow  morning?  I  dare  say 
your  father  will  bring  you."  Then,  without  waiting  for  an 
answer,  she  swept  out  into  the  ante-room,  where  her  chasseur 
was  looking  supremely  contemptuous,  in  green  and  gold,  and 
glowering  at  our  meek  domestic's  endeavors  to  unbolt  the 
obstinate  half  of  a  folding-door,  w^hich,  in  honor  of  so  mag- 
nificent a  visitor,  he  wished  to  open  to  its  full  extent.  I 
watched  the  flutter  of  the  chasseur's  plumes  down  the  stairs, 
followed  by  her  ladyship's  graceful  form,  in  its  heavy  dra- 
peries of  velvet,  until  both  were  out  of  sight. 

"What  an  amusing  origmal  person  Lady  Greybrook  is, 


AN   AUTOBIOGUAPnr,  85 

mamma  —  so  ofF-liand.  But  what  a  life  of  excitement.  One 
sees  it  at  once,  in  her  whole  manner.  I  rather  like  her, 
though." 

"  Do  you,  my  love  ?  "  My  mother  said  no  more,  until  she 
presently  remarked,  very  pertinently,  "  I  am  sure  I  don't 
know  what  to  do  about  your  clothes.  There  is  that  black 
gown  of  mine  can  be  turned  and  shortened,  and  will  do  for 
common  wear,  but  you  will  want  a  best  gown  for  — " 

Here  my  father  entered,  and  the  conversation,  if  it  could 
be  called  such,  dropped.  He  appeared  in  the  schoolroom 
about  noon  next  day,  much  to  my  astonishment,  and  bade 
me  "  get  on  my  bonnet  immediately." 

"  What  is  the  matter,  papa  ?     Where  are  we  going  ?  " 

"Why,  didn't  you  promise  to  go  to  Lady  Greybrook's 
this  morning?  She  told  me  so  when  I  met  her  last 
night." 

"  Lady  Greybrook  said  something  about  it,  certainly ;  but 
I  did  not  promise  —  for  you  know  I  am  always  with  Miss 
Lateward  of  a  morning,  and  never  pay  visits." 

"  You  will  break  through  these  good  rules  in  future. 
Come,  get  yourself  ready,  as  fast  as  you  can  —  don't  stay 
talking,  and  make  yourself  look  as  decent  as  you  can,  too  — 
not  with  all  your  hair  tucked  back  in  that  absurd  man- 
ner." 

I  obeyed,  and  presently  we  were  Avalking,  for  the  first  time 
in  my  life,  my  father  and  I,  alone,  and  arm  in  arm,  down  the 
Rue  de  Rivoli.  My  father  was  in  remarkably  good  humor, 
and  the  visit  passed  off,  I  believe,  to  the  satisftiction  of  all 
parties.  As  for  me,  at  least,  I  thought  Lady  Greybrook 
even  more  entertaining  than  I  had  done  tlie  previous  day.  I 
had  not  time,  indeed,  to  analyze  what  she  said,  and  I  found 
that  the  greater  part  of  it  had  passed  from  me  when  I  tried 
to  recall  it  afterwards  ;  but  the  general  effect  of  her  conver- 
sation was  to  dazzle  and  pleasantly  bewilder  me.  She  con- 
fessed, in  the  most  naive  way,  impressions  which  I  had  felt 


86  KiTA : 

myself,  but  to  wliicli  I  had  never  dreampt  of  giving  form  in 
words ;  and  we  are  all  of  us,  more  or  less,  captivated  by  this 
kind  of  apparent  spontaneity,  until  we  find  it  out.  She 
kissed  me  when  I  got  up  to  go  away,  called  back  my  father, 
just  as  we  had  reached  the  ante-room,  whispered  something 
in  which  I  heard  my  mother's  name  more  than  once,  and  so 
the  visit  ended.  My  father  bought  me  a  bunch  of  violets,  I 
remember,  at  a  stall  on  our  way  home,  and  was  very  talka- 
tive.    These  were  strange  signs  and  wonders. 

I  was  accustomed,  of  an  evening,  to  draw  in  my  own  little 
room  (which  opened  into  the  salon),  where  my  table,  with 
its  litter  of  chalks,  etc.,  was  unmolested,  and  where  my 
brothers  could  read  and  talk  without  disturbing  my  father, 
when  he  was  taking  his  after-dinner  nap,  as  he  genei'ally 
did,  before  dressing  to  go  out.  The  door  was  left  open,  and 
sometimes  Hose,  who  now  played  extremely  well  on  the 
piano,  was  summoned  by  my  father  to  play  one  of  his  favor- 
ite waltzes.  She  had  done  so  this  evening ;  and  it  had  ended 
in  her  treating  the  boys  to  some  "  magical  music,"  while  they 
hid  things  under  the  chairs  and  sofas,  but  very  quietly ;  they 
knew  the  ground  too  well  to  indulge  in  any  boisterous 
demonstrations  of  mirth,  for  my  father  and  mother  were  talk- 
ing together  near  the  fire ;  and  while  I  drew  under  the  shade 
of  the  lamp,  and  the  boys  glided  about  like  shadows,  and  the 
music  alternately  swelled  and  died  away,  my  father's  voice 
rose  and  fell  almost  in  unison  with  it  (he  was  the  principal 
speaker),  until  I  became  excitedly  cui'ious  to  know  what 
could  be  the  subject  of  his  eager  conversation.  At  last  Betsy 
summoned  the  boys,  and  Rose  soon  after  kissed  me,  and  said 
she  should  go  to  bed  also,  feeling  tired.  Then,  when  she  had  . 
closed  the  door,  the  silence  was  only  broken  by  the  scraping 
of  the  knife  as  I  cut  my  chalks,  and  by  the  voices  in  the 
adjoining  room,  which,  though  somewhat  lowered,  I  could 
now  hear  distinctly.  There  was  a  long  pause :  at  last  my 
mother  said, 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  87 

"  Well,  Percival,  I  know  Mary  will  disapprove  of  it  very 
much.  I  remember  her  saying,  years  ago,  that  I  ought  not 
to  know  her  —  that  I  ought  not,  on  any  account,  to  encour- 
age intimacy  with  her.  She  may  be  very  fashionable  and 
that  sort  of  thing  here,  but  you  know  she  is  not  received  in 
London.  Indeed,  she  said  herself,  she  found  it  so  dull  there 
she  could  not  stay  —  which  meant  as  much.  She  is  very 
pleasant  and  good-natured,  but  — " 

"But  women  are  jealous  of  her!  just  because  she  man- 
ao'es  to  keep  men  round  her,  by  being  so  monstrous  agreea- 
ble, when  younger  and  handsomer  women  are  deserted.  She 
is  at  the  head  of  every  thing  here." 

""Well,  you  mustn't  forget  how  much  we  owe  to  Mary, 
and  I  know  she  will  —  " 

"  Stuff !  Lady  Dacre  knows  as  well  as  you  do  that  the 
girl  must  be  married,  and  those  prudish,  old-foshioned  Eng- 
lish notions  don't  do  in  Paris.  She  has  taken  an  amazing 
fancy  to  the  girl,  says  she  knows  she  will  make  a  brilliant 
match,  and  I  am  not  such  a  fool  as  to  let  any  confounded 
humbug  stand  in  the  way." 

"What  is  Lady  Greybrook's  object  in  wanting  to  take 
Rita  out  ?  She  is  by  way  of  being  a  beauty  still  herself.  I 
should  have  thought  a  young  girl  Avould  have  interfered." 

"  She  likes  having  a  court  of  men  round  her,  and  the  addi- 
tion of  a  good-looking  girl,  who  has  some  brains  and  conver- 
sation, is  a  great  attraction.  She  is  too  sharp  to  fancy  her- 
self any  longer  sought  for  her  own  personal  charms.  Men 
like  talking  to  her  because  she  is  such  fun,  and  she  knows 
that,  so  she  generally  manages  to  take  out  some  girl,  whom 
she  makes  the  fashion,  and  has  the  pleasant  excitement  into 
the  bargain  of  looking  out  for  catches.  Oh  !  I  know  my  lady 
as  well  as  possible,  and  don't  consider  myself  under  any  ob- 
ligation to  her  for  this.  It  is  a  mere  matter  of  business.  If 
she  takes  out  the  girl  she  must  pay  for  her  clothes,  I  sup- 
pose, and  even  then  we  are  quits." 


88  KiTA : 

"  She  IS  so  very  young  —  and  does  n't  wisli  to  go  out  her- 
self, I  know,"  said  my  mother,  hesitatingly. 

"  I  tell  you,"  rejoined  my  fathei-,  vehemently,  "  she  must 
be  married.  I  have  explained  to  you  a  dozen  times  that  we 
must  get  her  off  at  once,  if  possible.  And  I  should  like  to 
know  Ii02V,  if  she  is  not  to  go  out  ?  " 

"  But  why  don't  you,  then,  take  her  out  yourself?  Surely 
it  would  be  much  better." 

"  I  should  make  a  deuced  bad  chaperone  ;  besides,  I  don't 
know  all  these  French  people  —  that  rich  Faubourg  St.  Gei'- 
main  set,  where,  I  am  told,  there  are  some  capital  parties. 
Lady  Greybrook  is  very  intimate  in  all  these  houses  — 
it  is  quite  another  thing." 

"  Well,"  said  my  mother,  after  a  pause,  in  a  low  voice,  "it 
would  be  a  great  thing  if  she  was  well  married,  I  confess. 
But  why  not  to  an  Englishman,  Percival?  Why  do  you 
talk  so  much  about  Frenchmen  ?  " 

"  For  best  of  reasons  —  that  Englishmen  do  not  come  to 
Paris  to  marry  —  they  come  here  to  amuse  themselves  — 
opera-dancers  and  ball-room  flirtations  —  and  every  girl  here 
they  consider  fair  game.  Ko,  no.  I  understand  my  re- 
spected countrymen  pretty  well,  I  believe.  You  won't  catch 
them  committing  a  foHe  here,  as  you  might  a  middle-aged 
marquis,  who  has  survived  his  first  marriage  de  covenance, 
and  considers  himself  at  liberty  to  choose  the  first  pretty  face 

that  takes  his  fancy.     There  is  a  ball  at  Marshal  S 's 

next  week  —  the  first  gi-eat  fete  of  the  season.  Lady  Grey- 
brook  proposes  her  making  her  debut  there  ;  so  prepare  her, 
and  see  that  she  is  properly  got  up  — you  know  —  " 

My  mother  was  silent :  and  soon  afterwards  1  heard  my 
father  leave  the  room.  I  sat  there  for  nearly  an  hour  longer; 
but  my  thoughts  were  not  with  the  little  plaster  Cupid  before 
me.  They  had  wandered  far  away  into  the  dim  future.  I 
seemed  to  be  looking  down  a  deep  gulf,  on  the  brink  of  which 
I  stood.     My  childhood  had  passed  away ;  a  ne\v  world  of 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  89 

sensations  and  vicissitudes  was  opening  out  beneath  my  feet ; 
and  with  the  consciousness  of  this,  throbbed  that  bitter 
thought  —  that  I  must  he  got  rid  of — no  matter  how,  or 
where  —  at  any  price  !  —  no,  I  am  wrong  —  to  the  highest 
bidder,  and  on  the  best  terms  the  market  could  aflfoixl. 

The  world  excuses  this,  and  says  it  is  "  very  natural." 
Well  I  suppose  it  is,  for  the  same  thing  has  been  going  on 
for  thousands  of  years,  from  Bible  patriarchs,  haggling  over 
their  children's  dowries  of  flocks  and  herds,  through  long 
lines  of  kings  and  humbler  folk,  bartering  hearts  for 
crowns,  or  power,  or  wealth :  it  is  the  same  old  story,  unin- 
fluenced by  nation,  age,  or  circumstance.  Will  it  be  so  to 
the  end  ? 

Even  my  gentle  mother  had  said  it  would  be  "a  great 
thing"  to  see  me  married.  That,  henceforth,  was  to  be  the 
object  of  my  life ;  all  my  looks  and  actions  were  to  have 
reference  to  it.  My  home,  God  knows,  had  not  been  a  happy 
one ;  with  few  of  the  joys  and  little  of  the  sweet  influence 
belonging  to  that  name  ;  and  it  may  seem  strange  that  I 
viewed  with  such  horror  the  prospect  of  going  forth  into  the 
world  and  making  for  myself  new  ties.  But  here,  at  least,  I 
was/ree.  Here,  if  anywhere,  I  felt  that  I  was  of  some  use 
in  my  generation ;  for  more  and  more  had  I  taken  my 
mother's  place  in  the  family  of  late ;  and  in  numberless 
ways  I  stood  between  her  and  the  shadows  that  pressed  on 
us  from  without.  How  could  the  little  household  get  on 
without  me  ?  I  asked  myself.  Our  pliant  Rose  would  bend 
before  the  storms  that  I  had  weathered ;  nor  had  she  capac- 
ity or  inclination  to  take  the  reins  when  they  fell  from  my 
hands.  Why  Avould  they  not  let  me  pursue  my  own  quiet 
path,  and  leave  to  my  beautiful  sister,  in  due  course  of  time, 
the  triumphs  of  that  world  for  which  she  was  so  suited . 

I  felt  by  turns  indignant  and  miserable  as  I  asked  myself, 
"  Is  it  for  this  I  was  brought  into  the  Avorld  ?  Am  I  a  thing, 
then,  of  so  little  value  to  those  who  gave  me  birth,  that  their 


90  RITA:    AN    AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

only  anxiety  is  to  sell  me,  like  a  slave  in  the  market? 
From  my  father  I  had  no  reason  to  expect  otherwise,  but 
from  you,  mother  — " 

The  whole  head  was  sick  and  the  whole  heart  faint,  when 
I  lay  down  in  my  little  bed  that  night. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"When  it  was  officially  notified  in  the  family  tliat  I  was 
shortly  to  make  my  aj^pearance  in  the  world  of  balls  and 
parties,  the  intelligence  was  variously  received  by  three  of 
its  members.  My  faithful  Betsy  was  overjoyed,  and 
plunged  forthwith  into  a  turmoil  of  crape  and  lace  flounces 
(the  latter  being  the  remnants  of  my  mother's  wedding- 
dress).  Rose  looked  despondingly  on  at  these  preparations. 
She  sighed  heavily,  and  I  rather  think  a  tear  fell  upon  her 
English  Grammar;  but  I  am  not  sure.  Miss  Lateward 
heard  the  announcement,  as  the  Sphinx  might  have  done, 
with  a  stony  gloom,  which  sent  a  chill  to  the  hearts  of  the 
beholders.  Mine  was  depressed  enough  as  it  was.  I  put 
my  arms  round  her,  and  said, 

"  I  am  very  ignorant,  dear  Miss  Lateward ;  no  one  can 
feel  it  more  than  I  do.  I  am  quite  unfit  to  go  into  society 
—  I  told  mamma  so  —  but  I  am  determined  to  Avork  on  still 
at  my  books,  just  the  same,  if  you  please.  It  shall  make  no 
difference." 

"No,  Marguerite,  that  is  impossible.  The  exciting  at- 
mosphei-e  in  which  you  will  move,  and  the  demands  upon 
your  time  and  thoughts,  will  render  any  attempt  at  serious 
study,  for  the  present,  perfectly  fruitless." 

I  thought  she  was  quite  wrong,  and  that  it  showed  she 
very  little  understood  me ;  but  I  said  nothing,  and  only  sat 
down  beside  her,  full  of  silent  resolves. 

Lady  Grcybrook  greeted  me  most  affectionately,  when 
next  we  met ;  and  in  spite  of  what  I  had  heard  my  mother 

(91) 


92  RITA: 

say  of  her,  I  believe,  if  any  thing  could  have  overcome  my 
repugnance  to  the  idea  of  entering  society,  it  would  have 
been  the  prospect  of  having  so  original,  entertaining,  and 
good-natured  a  chaperone.  The  truth  is,  that  having  heard 
some  evil  spoken  of  half  the  people  whose  names  were 
mentioned  in  my  mother's  drawing-room  —  whose  society, 
I  knew,  was  eagerly  sought  after,  and  who,  in  their  turn, 
possibly  paid  their  visits,  and  abused  those  who  had  pre- 
ceded them  —  the  bloom  having  thus  been  very  early  rubbed 
off  my  impressions  of  the  world  in  general,  my  thoughts 
upon  the  subject  were  pretty  much  as  follows : 

"  I  dare  say  Lady  Greybrook  is  no  worse  than  the  rest  of 
the  world.  She  is  evidently  a  very  natural  person,  and 
those  who  are  so  always  show  their  worst  side.  Then, 
again,  every  one  seems  to  me  to  speak  ill  of  every  one  else. 
I  am  sorry,  however,  my  Aunt  Mary  doesn't  like  her;  but 
she  has  probably  heard  some  of  these  ill-natured  stories,  and 
people  imbibe  prejudices  and  false  impressions  so  easily.  I 
remember  Madame  Gobemouche's  pitying  me  for  being  sent 
to  Boulogne  with  my  aunt,  because  she  had  such  a  bad 
temper !  Ah !  hapj^y  days,  will  they  ever  return  ?  shall  I 
ever  see  that  sweet,  wise  face  again  ?  " 

What  the  world  said  of  Lady  Greybrook  was  this,  though 
I  did  not  know  it  for  long  afterwards.  That  she  had 
married  the  late  lord  when  she  was  a  perfect  child,  and  he 
an  old  man  of  dissolute  habits  and  ungovernable  temper. 
That  he  had  treated  her  like  a  brute,  and  that  she  had 
borne  it  like  an  angel,  until,  in  an  evil  hour,  she  had  allowed 
some  one  to  tell  her  so.  That  before  any  steps  were 
taken  to  procure  a  divorce,  her  lord  had  died  of  delirium 
tremens,  and  she  was  left  a  rich  widow,  of  five-and-twenty. 
That,  soon  after  this,  the  carriage  of  one  of  the  royal  dukes 
began  to  be  seen  regularly  every  afternoon  at  her  door,  and 
that  the  virtuous  Queen  Chai-lotte  had  turned  her  back  upon 
her  at  a  drawing-room.     That  she  had  then  come  over  to 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  93 

Paris,  where  she  became  immensely  the  fashion,  and  was  the 
cause  of  a  duel  between  two  well-known  noblemen.  That, 
at  Naples,  her  "  cavaliei'e  servente,"  was  a  young  Russian 
prince,  with  whom,  it  was  positively  affirmed,  she  subse- 
quently travelled  in  the  East,  and  that  she  followed  him  to 
St.  Petersburg,  where,  for  some  unknown  cause,  she  was 
but  coldly  received. 

Finally,  that  after  an  illness  which  had  done  more  to- 
wards destroying  her  beauty  than  the  ravages  of  time,  she 
had  adopted  two  or  three  nieces  in  succession,  and  had 
succeeded  in  marrying  them  all  to  foreigners  of  rank. 

Such  was  the  world's  opinion  of  the  person  to  whom  my 
parents  entrusted  their  child,  upon  her  introduction  into  that 
censorious  arena.  Such  was  the  atmosphere  in  which  they 
consented  she  should  move,  for  the  sake  of  present,  and  yet 
more  (as  they  hoped)  future  advantages. 

Lady  Greybrook  at  once  assumed  her  position  as  sponsor 
for  my  appearance  in  society.  She  questioned  me  as  to  my 
dress,  and  summarily  pronounced  against  Betsy's  well-meant 
efforts. 

"  What !  blue  and  blonde  for  such  a  child  as  you  !  What 
can  dear  Mrs.  Percival  be  thinking  of?  Tell  her  to  leave  it 
all  to  me.  I  shall  desire  Palmire  to  come  to  me  to-morrow : 
pure  white,  and  not  a  flower  or  ornament !  With  a  certain 
amount  of  distinction  nothing  makes  such  an  effect  in  a 
crowd  as  perfect  simplicity." 

So  Lady  Greybrook  arranged  it  all,  and  it  was  an  under- 
stood thing  that  I  was  to  be  dressed  as  she  chose,  and  (not 
the  least  important  part)  entirely  at  her  expense. 

The  evening  came  that  was  to  see  me  launched  upon  the 
world.  My  mother  had  been  very  ill  all  day ;  and  I  felt  a 
depression  at  heart  I  endeavored  in  vain  to  shake  off.  It 
had  been  arranged  that  Lady  Greybrook's  carriage  should 
call  for  me  rather  early,  and  that  I  should  repair  to  that 
lady's  house,  so  as  to  enable  her  to  "  insoect  "  me  before  we 


94  RITA : 

went  to  the  ball.  The  fumily  all  crowded  into  my  little 
room  when  I  was  dressed :  there  was  a  great  running  to 
and  fro  with  hair-pins  and  pomatum  for  an  hour  before  that, 
and  I  was  thankful  when  it  was  over,  and  the  general  result 
approved  of  (on  the  whole),  though  Betsy  said  it  was  very 
"  plain-like,"  and  clearly  preferred  her  unfinished  cerulean 
structure.  My  father,  however,  cast  a  satisfied  glance  over 
me,  and  when,  at  last,  her  ladyship's  chariot  was  heard 
rumbling  under  the  porte-cochere,  he  actually  offered  me  his 
arm  ;  an  honor  I  felt  I  owed  as  much  to  the  chasseur  and 
coachman  as  to  my  own  merits. 

"  I  shall  meet  you  at  the  ball,  by-and-by,"  he  said,  as  he 
handed  me  in.  The  chasseur  clapped  the  door  to,  with  a 
shai'p  report,  and  sprang  up  behind ;  the  carriage  heaved  for 
a  moment,  and  then  rolled  smoothly  out  into  the  night. 

I  felt  a  loneliness  as  I  sat  there,  with  the  carriage-lamps 
shining  brightly  in  my  face,  which  Avas  quite  indescribable. 
It  sounds  foolish,  but  it  required  a  strong  effort  to  prevent 
my  bursting  into  tears,  and  yet  tears  with  me  were  not  com- 
mon. I  looked  out  upon  the  wet  pavement,  where  the  long 
shadows  of  the  gas-lights  Avere  reflected,  and  where,  here 
and  there,  the  figure  of  a  woman  pattered  along  in  her 
sabots,  under  the  ample  wing  of  a  scarlet  cotton  umbrella. 
There  was  a  momentary  stoppage  at  the  corner  of  a  street. 
A  man  and  woman  —  evidently  his  wife  —  with  their  little 
girl,  were  just  coming  out  of  a  grocer's  shop.  The  man  had 
some  candles  and  two  or  three  parcels  under  his  arm.  He 
stooped  and  gave  one  to  the  child  to  carry.  She  looked  up 
proudly  in  his  face.  They  were  going  home  to  their  pleas- 
ant fireside,  that  happy  trio !  —  "  The  mother  will  put  her 
child  to  bed  —  then  she  and  the  father  will  sit  down  together 
over  their  homely  supper."  I  saw  it  all,  and  I  envied  them. 
At  the  same  instant  the  woman  looked  up ;  perhaps  she,  in 
her  turn,  felt  a  momentary  pang  as  she  saw  the  occupant  of 
that  brilliant  equipage,  and  thought  of  hard  work  and  pov- 
erty. 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  95 

When  I  arrived  at  the  Place  VendOme,  I  was  shoAvn  into 
Lady  Greybrook's  dressing-room.  I  found  her  seated  before 
the  Psyche ;  her  maid  putting  the  last  touches  to  her  attire. 

"  Your  dress,  my  dear  Marguerite,  is  irreproachable"  said 
her  Ladyship,  examining  me  from  head  to  foot ;  "  but  you 
look  dreadfully  pale  —  as  if  you  had  had  a  tete-a-tete  with 
Mephistophiles,  like  your  German  namesake.  Come  here ; 
kneel  down,  I  want  to  arrange  something.  Take  care  not  to 
crush  your  gown  —  so  —  " 

She  held  a  small  casket  on  her  knees,  and  took  from  it 
what  looked  like  a  piece  of  jeweller's  cotton.  I  had  no  con- 
ception of  what  she  was  going  to  do,  until  I  felt  something 
swiftly  and  lightly  passed  over  both  cheeks.  I  started  up, 
and  ran  to  the  glass. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  my  dear  —  nothing  more  than  the 
deUcate  tinge  you  always  have  when  you  walk  here  in  the 
morning.  You  won't  detect  it  yourself.  Nothing  in  the 
Avorld  is  so  impertinent  as  to  interfere  clumsily  with  Na- 
ture." 

"  Oh  !  nonsense,  Lady  Greybrook  ;  it  makes  no  difference 
Avhether  it  is  clumsily  or  well  done  — it  is  an  acted  lie,  wear- 
ing a  complexion  God  has  not  given  one,  and  I  hate  it.  I 
hope  my  cheeks  are  red  enough  now  to  please  you,  for  it 
makes  me  feel  perfectly  hot  and  scarlet  to  think  of  entering 
a  room  —  " 

"  Brava ! "  cried  she  laughing,  as  her  maid  threw  the  ber- 
nous  over  her  shoulders  ;  "  you  see,  after  all,  I  only  restored 
the  complexion  God  has  given  you.  It  was  *a  word  to  the 
wise,'  and  Nature  immediately  took  the  hint.  Come  along, 
we  shall  be  late ; "  and  before  I  had  time  to  expostulate  fur- 
ther, and  beg  for  a  sponge  and  water,  she  had  drawn  my 
arm  through  hers,  and  was  leading  me  down  stairs. 

The  first  thing  I  can  remember  when  we  entered  the  ball- 
room and  made  our  way  through  the  crowd  round  the  door- 
ways, was  the  painful  consciousness  of  being  stared  at.     I 


96  RITA : 

thought  my  checks  were  attracting  general  attention,  and 
that  was  sufficient,  of  course,  to  dye  them  the  deepest  crim- 
son. Lady  Greybrook  made  her  way  forward  with  that 
balancing  movement  on  the  toes  which  has  now  become  so 
common,  but  was  then  confined  to  a  noble  few.  Her  whole 
body  rose,  sank,  and  vibrated  in  that  sea  of  gold-embroidered 
epaulettes,  amply-padded  chests  a-blaze  with  orders,  dia- 
monded necks  and  stomachers,  adroitly  cleaving,  where  she 
could,  the  less  material  waves  of  gauze  and  tulle,  and  bow- 
ing almost  incessantly,  right  and  left. 

"  There  goes  Lady  Greybrook,"  I  heard  a  little  fat  woman 
say  in  English  to  a  man  near  her.  "  What  is  it  she  has  got 
with  her?" 

"  Don't  know  —  something  raw  —  dressed  quite  au  natu- 
re!, you  see." 

"  For  shame !  The  chaperone,  at  least,  has  plenty  of 
sauce  piquante." 

"VYe  reached  the  top  of  the  room.  I  remember  making  a 
low  courtesy  to  an  old  gentleman,  and  being  taken  up  to  a 
knot  of  magnificent-looking  matrons  on  an  ottoman.  I 
appeared  to  be  in  a  dream ;  the  room  literally  swam  round 
with  me.  I  knew  that  eye-glasses  were  raised,  that  some- 
thing complimentary  was  said  to  Lady  Greybrook  about  me, 
and  that  one  of  the  magnificent-looking  matrons  addressed 
me.  I  answered  at  random,  and  there  was  an  audible  titter 
—  a  whisper  of  "  Au  moins,  elle  est  bien  bete  !  " 

Lady  Greybrook  bowed,  nodded,  laughed,  shook  hands, 
inquired  after  the  health  of  her  "  chere  Duchesse,"  and  had 
a  petit  mot  for  each  of  the  great  ladies  in  turn.  Several 
men  came  forward :  to  some  she  extended  a  finger,  with  all 
she  seemed,  more  or  less,  on  terms  of  intimacy ;  and  a  rapid 
fire  of  jokes  passed,  evidently  requiring  a  key  to  understand. 
I  felt  much  like  a  shipwrecked  mariner,  who  hears  an 
unknown  tongue  and  sees  no  friendly,  no  familiar  face  to  bid 
him  welcome  to  an  inhospitable  shore.     My  chaperone  sud- 


AN   AUTOBIOGKAPHY.  97 

denly  turned  round  and  introduced  some  one  to  me  whose 
name  I  did  not  catch.  I  saw  and  heard  at  once  he  was  an 
Englishman,  in  sjiite  of  a  black  beard,  which  our  country- 
men seldom  wore  in  those  days.  He  was  tall,  and  certainly 
handsome,  but  with  a  disagreeable,  forbidding  expression  of 
face  —  at  least  I  thought  so,  at  first  sight ;  and,  as  his  man- 
ner did  not  prepossess  me  more  than  his  appearance,  I  said, 
w^hat  was  the  truth, 

"  Thank  you  —  I  feel  too  giddy  to  waltz." 

"  Nonsense,  my  dear,"  said  Lady  Greybrook,  rather 
sharply,  "  that  will  pass  away ;  sit  down  here.  Come  and 
claim  her  when  the  waltz  begins ; "  then,  in  a  whisper,  as 
the  bearded  gentleman  sauntered  away,  "  A  great  thing  to 
be  seen  dancing  with  him  —  you  have  no  idea  what  an 
honor  it  is  !  He  never  dances  with  any  one  but  a  married 
woman,  and  that  very  rarely.  It  will  make  you  the  fashion 
among  the  men  at  once.  Ah,  mon  Prince,  comment  9a 
va?" 

A  young  man,  with  a  face  like  a  sheet  of  white  blotting- 
paper,  hair  white,  eyelashes  white,  a  flat  nose  and  thick 
white  lips,  the  whole  strapped  up  immovably  into  the  stiffest 
of  white  stocks,  with  a  head  so  lifeless,  in  short,  that  all  the 
blood  seemed  to  have  trickled  out  of  it  down  into  the  scarlet 
riband  of  an  order  he  wore  round  his  neck  —  this  young 
man  approached,  and  bringing  his  feet  with  a  sudden  click 
together  into  tlie  fourth  position,  made  Lady  Greybrook  a 
profound  obeisance.  I  was  sufficiently  at  ease  now,  being 
seated,  and  left  to  my  own  observations,  to  derive  some 
amusement  from  watching  this  inane  figure,  as,  in  a  penny- 
trumpet  voice  and  the  purest  French,  he  jerked  out  a  few 
questions  to  her  ladyship,  who  received  them  with  the  bland- 
est smile  and  responded  with  a  sparkling  little  flow  of  talk. 
It  is  true  there  were  two  other  men  standing  by  her  who 
benefited  by  her  brilliant  conversation ;  still  I  thought,  in 
my  ignorance,  "  How  can  she  like  to  talk  to  that  creature  ? 

7 


98  HiTA : 

A  clever  woman  like  Lady  Greybrook  to  waste  her  breath 
upon  that  glove-and-boot-tree !  He  has  evidently  not  two 
ideas  —  a  perfect  automaton,  and  such  an  ugly  one,  too ! " 
But  I  did  not  know  the  automaton  was  his  Serene  Highness 
the  Prince  of  Pultowa. 

The  pale  little  eye-balls  of  the  serene  countenance  twin- 
kled under  their  frosty  lashes  towards  me,  and  to  avoid  look- 
ing any  longer  at  so  disagreeable  an  object,  I  turned  my 
head  in  an  opposite  direction.  The  crowd  had  not  yet  done 
arriving :  there  was  still  a  stream  of  people  coming  up  the 
room,  to  pay  their  respects  to  their  veteran  host,  and  among 
these  I  suddenly  perceived  a  little  figure  in  cramoisie  velvet, 
with  a  turban  and  bird  of  Paradise  on  its  head,  lurching  to 
and  fro,  like  a  boat  with  a  top-heavy  sail.  It  was  a  familiar 
face,  connected  with  my  chilhood,  but  one  I  had  not  seen  for 
two  or  three  yeai'S,  at  least.  It  brought  a  rush  of  pleasura- 
ble feelings,  in  the  midst  of  that  stranger-world,  and  from  an 
irrepressible  impulse,  as  she  came  within  a  few  yards  of  me, 
I  started  up,  ran  forwards,  and  seized  her  hand. 

"  Dear  Madame  Gobemouche !  don't  you  know  me  ? 
Marguerite,  whom  you  used  to  be  so  kind  to.  I  little 
thought  to  see  you  here :  I  thought  you  had  left  Paris  for 
ever.  How  long  have  you  been  back  ?  Where  is  the  Gen- 
eral ?  Do  you  find  me  altered  ?  This  is  my  first  ball,"  &c., 
with  a  good  deal  more  in  the  same  style,  which  I  will  spare 
the  reader.  Indeed,  my  tongue,  which  had  so  long  seemed 
tied,  now  took  its  revenge :  I  was  again  the  child,  chattering 
away  witli  the  kind  little  woman,  who  answered  with  cor- 
responding volubility.  We  talked  over  the  old  times  ;  there 
were  many  inquiries  to  be  made  and  answered.  Oh !  they 
had  only  been  in  Paris  two  days  —  come  up  on  business 
from  madame's  chateau,  where  they  were  now  residing. 
The  General's  old  friend.  Marshal  S — ,  had  invited  them 
here,  but,  unfortunately,  the  General  was  not  able  to  come, 
owing  to  —  whereupon  Madame  entered  into  certain  medi- 


AN    AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  99 

cal  details,  whicli  I  would  fain  have  been  spared,  seeing  that 
the  bystanders  appeared  to  be  deriving  more  amusement 
than  I  did  from  the  recital.  A  fan  tapped  me  on  the  shoul- 
der. It  was  Lady  Greybrook,  looking  exceedingly  an- 
noyed. 

"  When  you  have  finished  that  interesting  conversation," 
she  said,  in  a  tone  of  concealed  disgust,  "the  Prince.de  Pul- 
towa  wishes  to  be  presented  to  you.  What  on  earth  is  that 
thing  you  are  talking  to  ?  "  she  added,  hardly  lowering  her 
tone. 

"  Au  revoir,  my  dear  old  friend ! "  said  I,  turning  to  the 
little  woman,  whose  angry  eyes  betrayed  that  she  guessed 
but  too  Avell  the  nature  of  her  ladyship's  remarks,  though 
made  in  English  —  indeed  it  was  impossible  to  mistake  the 
look  she  had  bestowed  upon  the  bird  of  Paradise  —  "  au  re- 
voir !  pray  come  and  see  us  to-morrow,  and  give  my  best 
love  to  the  Genei'al.  I  nm  going  to  dance,  you  see,  so  I 
must  leave  vou  now.     Adieu  ! " 

"  I  must  inform  you,"  said  Lady  Greyl)rook,  when  we  re- 
turned to  the  ottoman,  "  as  you  know  nothing  of  the  conve- 
nances de  societe,  my  dear,  that  it  is  not  usual  for  youno- 
ladies  to  start  off  upon  voyages  of  discovery  away  from  their 
chaperones  across  a  ball-room.  When  did  you  pick  up  that 
eccentric  acquaintance  of  yours  ?  Any  thing  so  fearfully 
and  wonderfully  made  I  never  saw  let  loose  upon  society  — 
and  then  her  voice !  Je  voyais  V instant  when  there  would 
be  a  ring  formed  round  you  to  listen  to  her  revelations  !  I 
never  felt  more  uncomfortable  —  there  was  that  sofa  full 
of  old  French  dowagers,  looking  through  their  glasses 
and  cackling.  Really,  my  dear,  you  must  —  Ah !  mon 
Prince,  vous  voila  !  —  ma  petite  protege  Mademoiselle 
Percival." 

"  How  shall  I  ever  get  through  a  quadrille  with  that  stiff- 
necked  phantom  ?  "  I  thought  to  myself  But  the  princely 
arm  was  rounded,  and  we  took  our  places. 


100  KITA : 

I  will  give  a  samiile  of  the  conversation,  prefacing  that 
the  reader  may  perfectly  well  skip  it,  if  he  is  so  disposed. 

Our  vis-a-vis  has  just  taken  his  place. 

"  Connaissez-vous,  Madame  de  B — ,  mademoiselle  ?  " 

"  Non,  monsieur,  je  ne  connais  personne." 

"  Hein  ?  cependant  c'est  une  personne  que  tout  le  monde 
connait.  Comment  trouvez-vous  la  toilette  de  Mademoiselle 
T.?" 

"  Laquelle,  monsieur  ?  j'ai  deja  eu  I'honneur  de  vous  dire 
que  je  ne  connais  personne." 

"  Vraiment  ?  Tenez,  c'est  la  demoiselle  aux  roses,  en 
face.     Preferez-vous  le  rose  ou  le  bleu,  mademoiselle  ?  " 

"  J'aime  tout  ce  qui  n'est  pas  blanc,  monsieur." 

"  Hein  ?  c'est  drole.  J'aurais  dit  —  "  He  glanced  at 
my  white  dress,  but  the  exigencies  of  the  figure  lost  for  me 
the  remainder,  and  by  the  time  I  returned  to  my  place  he 
commenced  a  new  interrogatory. 

"  Aimez-vous  Verdi  ?  c'est  joli  ce  morceau,  n'est-ce  pas  ?  " 

"  Vert  quoi,  monsieur  ?  quel  morceau  ?  " 

"  Je  parlais  de  la  musique.  Ah  !  Est-ce  vrai  qu'en  An- 
gleterre  on  ne  danse  que  des  reels,  danse  sauvage  qu'on  a 
conserve  des  anciens  habitants  du  pays  ?  Quelle  idee ! 
Oh !  qu'un  homme  doit  avoir  I'air  bete  en  dansant  comma 
9a." 

"  II  y  a  des  betes  parmi  toutes  les  nations." 

****** 

"This  is  our  waltz,  I  believe.  Miss  Percival,"  said  the 
dark  Englishman,  coming  up,  as  I  was  being  conducted  back 
to  Lady  Greybrook.  "  I  see,"  he  added,  as  he  gave  me  his 
arm,  "  you  have  not  been  adopting  the  best  means  to  cure 
your  giddiness.  A  quadrille  with  Pultowa  is  said  to  turn 
most  young  ladies'  heads." 

I  looked  up  in  astonishment. 

"  Of  course  you  know  every  one  here,  though  it  is  your 
first  ball  ?     You  live  in  Paris,  don't  you  ?  " 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  101 

"Yes,  but  I  know  nothing  of  its  society.  I  had  to  tell 
my  last  partner  three  times  that  I  knew  no  one,  not  even 
by  sight,  and  I  suppose  I  shall  pass  the  evening  in  repeat- 
ing this." 

"  Exactly  :  I  understand  ;  and  you  have  dressed  the  part 
admirably.  Youth  —  innocence  —  first  introduction  into  the 
■world  —  all  that  sort  of  thing.  But  I  thought  I  saw  you 
rush  into  the  arms  of  a  plethoric  dame  in  scarlet  just  now  — 
a  visitant,  perhaps,  from  the  other  world,  eh  ?  " 

"  A  different  world  from  this,"  said  I,  amused  at  the  very 
peculiar  manner  of  my  companion,  "  and  a  lower  and 
warmer  world  too  —  though  hardly  in  your  sense  —  a 
more  kind-hearted  and  less  mocking  world  than  this  one 
seems." 

"  Is  that  intended  for  me  ?  Thank  you.  You  're  wrong, 
though,  for  all  the  world  is  alike.  I  have  seen  something 
of  it,  and  it  is  all  equally  worthless  —  from  the  palace  to  the 
poor-house ;  but  if  you  retain  any  illusions  on  the  subject,  I 
beg  your  pardon  for  having  disturbed  them." 

"  Oh !  I  should  not  think  of  lowering  my  opinion  of  the 
world  from  an  individual  instance." 

The  dark  man  smiled  oddly. 

"  Miss  Percival,  you  are  a  female  Chesterfield  for  polite- 
ness. Confess,  now,  that  you  have  heard  a  very  bad  char- 
acter of  me." 

"  I  am  sorry  that  I  cannot  gratify  you,  but  I  never  heard 
of  you  in  my  life  that  I  am  aware  of." 

"  Then,  I  suppose,  seeing  what  you  do  of  me,"  said  my 
strange  partner,  "  you  would  positively  object  to  become  my 
wife  if  I  were  to  ask  you  ?  " 

I  now  made  up  my  mind  that  he  was  slightly  deranged, 
but  I  did  not  feel  disconcerted,  as  he  seemed  quiet,  and  I 
answered,  composedly  enough, 

"You  are  right.  I  should  positively  object  to  become 
your  wife  under  any  circumstances." 


102  KiTA : 

"  Good  ! "  lie  rejoined,  with  an  expression  of  great  relief. 
"Now,  then,  we  can  talk  at  our  ease,  which  I  very  rarely  do 
with  a  young  lady.  I  wonder  how  this  seems  to  you  ?  To 
me  it  is  all  very  empty." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  —  empty  ?  " 

"  I  mean  hollow  —  how  hollow  it  all  is  !  " 

"  I  was  beginning  to  think  it  rather  pleasanter,  now  my 
first  nervousness  has  worn  away.  But  where  are  we  going  ? 
It  seems  to  me  we  have  left  the  music  behind  us.  Here,  we 
are  in  the  Orangerie." 

"  Are  we  ?     Oh  !  it  is  all  the  same  "  (abstractedly). 

"  Not  if  we  are  to  waltz  —  we  must  go  where  the  mu- 
sic is." 

"  Oh  !  we  are  going  to  waltz,  are  we  ?  "  And  an  ex- 
pression almost  irritable  crossed  his  face  as  he  turned  short 
round. 

"  Not  unless  you  wish  it,  pray.  I  will  return  to  Lady 
Greybrook." 

"  No,  no  !  "  And  a  minute  afterwards  we  were  whirling 
round  in  a  small  circle  of  waltzers.  There  was  a  pleasui-- 
able  excitement  in  the  music  and  the  movement  which  was 
new  to  me.  When  we  stopped  at  last,  and  as  I  leant,  some- 
what out  of  breath,  on  my  partner's  arm,  I  was  conscious,  by 
that  magnetic  influence  which  every  one  has  experienced  in 
a  crowd,  at  some  time  or  other,  that  a  pair  of  eyes  were 
intently  fixed  on  me.  Each  time  I  glanced  over  the  thick 
serried  mass  of  head  opposite,  I  flashed  fire,  as  it  were, 
against  these  same  eyes.  They  seemed  familiar  to  me, 
strange  to  say.  I  knew  the  head,  but  where  and  when  I 
could  not  remember. 

"  Who  is  —  "  I  stopped  and  hesitated  —  "  that  —  that 
girl  with  fair  hair,  waltzing?" 

"  That  girl  is  a  grandmother,  aged  thirty-seven  —  the 
Marchesa  Boschi ;  that  inexhaustible  waltzer  in  blue  is  her 
daughter — both  lioH/ies.     The  mother  has  been  separated 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  103 

from  her  husband  for  the  last  fourteen  years.  He  only  re- 
turned to  Paris  lately,  after  a  long  absence  —  saw  his  wife 
in  a  box  at  the  opera,  and  did  n't  know  her.  '  Chi  sara  mai 
quella  bella  donna  ? '  he  asked  his  daughter.  '  Non  conos- 
cete  Mama  ? '  she  answered ;  whereupon  the  old  gentleman, 
I  suppose,  jerked  his  glass  in  some  other  direction  ;  for  the 
only  thing  that  is  not  permitted  to  a  man  in  Paris  is  to 
admire  his  own  wife  —  cm-ious,  eh?  isn't  it.  Miss  Per- 
cival?" 

We  floated  off  again  to  the  sound  of  Strauss,  but  the  wakz 
was  coming  to  an  end.  With  its  last  strain  the  crowd  began 
to  circle  freely  through  the  room,  and  I  caught  sight  of 
the  magnetic  eyes  still  bent  on  me,  as  my  partner  led  me 
away. 

In  the  doorway  we  were  arrested  by  a  large  woman  in  a 
head-dress  of  mingled  spectacles  and  diamonds,  a  belt  of  the 
latter  dividing  her  forehead  into  two  hemispheres,  from 
which  pended  a  spike,  which,  uniting  with  the  spectacles, 
was  as  once  dazzling  and  peculiar.  This  lady  had  a  re- 
markable way  of  arching  her  neck,  like  a  swan,  and  as  soon 
as  the  fancy  struck  me,  I  could  not  help  thinking  the  two 
pale  little  girls  with  fluffy  curls,  who  swam  close  after  her, 
were  not  unlike  cygnets. 

"Naughty  man  !  why  didn't  you  come  and  doine  with  us 
last  night  ?  Quite  a  congtre-tong.  The  girls  were  so  dis- 
appointed !  We  had  a  very  select  little  party  —  a  few  liter- 
ary people,"  etc.  i 

"I'm  not  literary,  unfortunately,  Mrs.  Fisher,  and  my 
worst  enemies  never  accused  me  of  being  select." 

"  Ah !  foi,  now !  I  wish  you  were  a  little  more  so  —  sad 
mauvais  soojet,  I  'm  afraid  —  but  then,  as  I  say,  you  are 
onfong  gatte  —  and  with  your  refoined  moind,  you  are  sure 
to  marry  some  day,  and  settle  down  into  a  respectable  mem- 
ber of  socoiety.  That  is  what  I  always  tell  Lady  Janet  — 
but  the  Oglevies  are  all  so  naiTow-moinded ! " 


104  RITA : 

"  So  they  are,  in  spite  of  their  connection  with  you.  They 
don't  recognize  my  good  quahties,  for  which  I  cannot  say 
how  grateful  I  feel,  and  how  I  respect  their  judgment,"  and 
gliding  adroitly  through  Mrs.  Fisher's  clutches,  he  continued 
to  me,  "  There  is  a  specimen  of  our  charming  compatriotes 
abroad,  whose  vulgarities  are  too  often  mistaken  for  Eritisli 
eccentricities  by  the  natives.  And  they  're  right,  for  such  a 
woman  as  that  could  only  be  British.  She  worships  a 
Jupiter  Bifrons  —  rank,  however  dull  —  literary  notoriety, 
however  ill-conducted.  She  would  fain  drag  Virtue,  and 
make  a  Trinity  of  it,  but  she  can't.  Virtue  won't  have  it  at 
any  price :  for  it  finds  that,  instead  of  being  worshipped,  it 
is  sacrificed  at  the  altar  of  the  other  two.  I  assure  you 
there  is  nothing  she  won't  admit  provided  it  fulfils  one  of 
these  required  conditions.  I  lose  no  opportunity  of  pointing 
out  to  her  my  numerous  little  weaknesses,  but  she  persists 
in  viewing  them  leniently.  I  am  perfectly  bombarded  with 
little  pink  notes,  and  the  worst  of  it  is,  you  see,  I  can't  be- 
lieve it  is  for  any  merit  of  my  owti." 

"That  is  fortunate:  as  your  opinion  of  yourself  does  not 
appear  to  be  characterized  by  any  extravagant  modesty.  I 
do  not  understand  how  a  man  can  talk  of  the  attention  he 
receives,  in  the  way  you  do." 

"  You  cannot  tell  what  it  is  to  be  sick  to  death  of  all  their 
horrid  worldliness  —  the  same  people  —  the  very  same  who 
would  barely  acknowledge  me  some  four  or  five  years  ago, 
when  I  was  a  penniless  captain  in  the  Cape  Mounted  Kifles. 
But,  after  all,  you  arc  right.  Miss  Percival.  The  reproof 
is  not  undeserved :  I  shall  be  more  careful,  in  future,  with 
you  to  —  " 

"  Which  of  her  own  conditions  does  Mrs.  Fisher  fulfil  ?  " 
I  interrupted,  "  harking  back  "  in  sportsman's  language,  to 
the  former  topic,  from  this  personal  ground.  "  Is  she  aris- 
tocratic, or  is  she  a  blue  ?  " 

"  In  her  own  person,  neither.     She  was  an  Irish  heiress, 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  105 

I 

and  will  tell  yoii,  no  doubt,  that  she  is  descended  from  the 
kings  of  Munster  —  " 

"  Ah !  I  see  —  King-Fisher  ;  on  the  banks  of  Boyne  the 
family  still  exists,  I  dare  say.  I  thought  she  had  an  aqua- 
tic look." 

"  The  deceased  Fisher  was  connected  with  the  Oglevies  ; 
a  nephew  of  Lady  Janet's,  that  is  where  she  gets  her  aris- 
tocracy, and  she  loses  no  opportunity  of  giving  you  the 
benefit  of  it.  As  to  her  learning,  we  all  suffered  severely 
last  year  at  Baden,  from  her  attempts  to  '  combine  instruc- 
tion with  amusement,'  as  she  informed  us,  in  a  series  of  his- 
torical charades,  which  with  the  aid  of  '  Maunder's  Treas- 
ury,' she  used  to  compose  and  produce  nightly  at  the  thes 
among  the  English  wdth  a  hydra-headed  facility  —  no  sooner 
was  one  disposed  of  than  another  sprang  up !  The  old 
Sphinx,  at  lust,  could  get  no  one  but  her  own  daughters  to 
listen  to  her  riddles  and  unriddle  them." 

"The  offspring  of  this  learned  lady — the  daughters,  I 
mean,  not  the  riddles  —  are  clever,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  It  makes  one's  brain  ache  to  think  of  the  mental  gym- 
nastics those  girls  go  through.  They  talk  divers  tongues, 
of  which  it  may  truly  be  said  there  is  neither  speech  nor 
language,  though  their  voices  are  heard  among  them.  They 
play  etudes  for  the  left  hand  on  the  piano,  while  they  stipple 
chalk  heads  with  the  right.  In  short,  they  are  frightfully 
accomplished.  They  do  every  thing,  and  do  nothing  well ; 
and  are  innocent  of  any  single  original  idea." 

"  What  a  picture  !  it  is  enough  to  prevent  one's  ever  learn- 
ing any  thing." 

"  Here  is  your  chaperone — but  will  you  dance  the  next 
quadrille  with  me  ?  " 

I  bowed,  and  Lady  Greybrook  made  room  for  me  on  the 
sofa  beside  her.  Some  foreigners  were  grouped  round :  and 
a  recital  of  her  ladyship's,  about  which  they  all  seemed  very 
merry,  was  brought  to  rather  an  abrupt  termination,  I  be- 
lieve, on  my  approach. 


lOG  RITA: 

"  "Well !  how  are  you  amusing  yourself?  "  said  she,  turn- 
ing round  with  that  change  of  manner  which  tells  you  that 
the  past  conversation  was  not  for  you,  and  that  the  speaker 
is  about  to  enter  on  a  new  field,  solely  on  your  account. 
"  Engaged  very  deep,  I  hope  ?  I  '11  do  a  violence  to  my 
feelings,  and  stay  the  cotillon,  if  you  like  it.  Your  father 
has  been  doing  the  paternal,  my  dear,  and  inquiring  after 
you ;  when  he  heard  you  were  dancing  with  Rawdon,  he 
seemed  to  think  you  were  wasting  your  time,  and  — " 

"  Is  that  the  eccentric  Englishman  I  have  just  been  danc- 
ing with  ?  What  a  very  strange  man  !  —  but  amusing  and 
original  certainly." 

'•  Didn  't  you  know  it  was  Lord  Rawdon  ?  who  is  so 
epandu  in  Paris,  in  many  different  ways.  Most  people 
think  him  a  little  mad,  though  I  doubt  his  being  as  much  so, 
as  he  wishes  to  make  them  think.  He  is  so  impertinent  and 
sarcastic,  and  does  give  himself  such  airs.  He  amuses  me, 
though,  and  we  are  tolerably  good  friends." 

"  I  suppose  I  may  consider  that  we  are,  too,  for  I  had  not 
talked  with  him  ten  minutes  before  he  asked  me  whether  I 
should  object  to  become  his  wife.  I  must  confess,  however, 
he  seemed  very  much  relieved  when  I  said  I  should  object." 

"  How  odd !  Why  he  has  a  perfect  horror  of  matrimony. 
That,  combined  with  the  insanity  (which  really  does,  I  be- 
lieve, exist  in  his  mother's  family),  has  made  most  of  the 
mammas  give  up  the  desperate  chase  —  Mrs.  Oglevie 
Fisher,  and  one  or  two  others  excepted,  in  whose  houses  I 
always  say  the  police  should  insist  on  a  placard  being  placed, 
to  warn  the  public  against  man-traps.  Lord  Rawdon  is  so 
dreadfully  extravagant,  however,  that  I  doubt  his  being  any 
longer  a  great  catch,  but  he  is  very  much  the  fashion,  and 
he  so  seldom  speaks  to  any  girl  that  you  may  consider  your- 
self wonderfully  honored."" 

"  I  could  not  make  him  out,  but  he  amused  me.  At 
first   I  thought  he   was  mad,  and  then  I  thought  he  was 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  107 

making  fun  of  me,  so  I  answered  him  in  his  own  tone,  as 
well  as  I  could ;  but  now  and  then  he  says  things  that  make 
one  fency  he  has  more  feeling  than  —  that  surprise  one,  in 
short." 

"  And  he  does  things  that  surprise  people  too,"  said  Lady 
Greybrook,  with  a  peculiar  smile.  "  However,  there  are 
allowances  to  be  made  for  him.  He  was  left  without  any 
near  relations  when  he  was  very  young;  cheated  by  a 
guardian,  I  believe,  and  went  out  in  some  regiment  to  the 
Cape.  Unexpectedly,  in  consequence  of  the  death  of 
several  intermediate  heirs,  he  succeeded  to  the  title  and 
estates  —  woke  one  morning  and  found  himself  famous  in 
the  great  world,  surrounded,  flattered,  worshipped,  where 
before  he  was  hardly  noticed.  It  was  enough  to  make  a 
peculiar  nature  like  his  sai'castic  and  capricious,  wasn  't  it  ?  " 

Two  or  three  men  came  up  to  Lady  Greybrook  at  that 
moment,  and  several  introductions  followed.  1  do  not  think 
they  much  admired  me  before,  or  liked  me  after,  they  had 
danced  with  me ;  but  I  was  new  —  I  was  chaperoned  by  a 
"  grande  dame  "  —  and,  on  the  whole,  it  seemed  to  be  con- 
sidered the  thing  to  dance  with  me.  I  soon  became  confused 
between  the  black  beards  and  the  red  —  the  well-shorn 
chins  and  silken  moustaches  —  and  behaved  as  young  ladies 
generally  do,  under  like  circumstances,  engaging  myself  to 
two  or  three  men  for  one  dance.  The  fact  is  impressed  on 
my  mind  from  the  recollection  of  Lord  Rawdon's  scowl  at  a 
dapper  little  Frenchman  who  was  leading  me  away,  and  his 
stepping  before  another  who  was  mildly  asserting  his  claim 
to  this  particular  quadi'ille. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  ;  but  this  is  my  dance." 

"  Mademoiselle  is  the  person  to  decide  that,  I  believe," 
fired  out  the  little  Gaul,  his  face  growing  scarlet. 

I  really  felt  frightened,  and  endeavored  to  explain  and  to 
pacify ;  and  of  course  it  ended  in  my  impetuous  countryman 
carrying  the  day,  —  and  the  Frenchman  never  forgave  me. 


108  eita: 

Lord  Eawdon  afterwards  took  me  in  to  supper,  Lady  Grey- 
brook  being  conducted,  at  the  same  time,  in  great  pomp,  by 
a  white-liaired  old  marshal,  with  a  breast  full  of  orders.  I 
found  the  conversation  of  my  new  acquaintance  not  only 
amusing,  it  even  became  interesting,  when,  dropping  his 
cynical  tone,  he  described  some  of  the  scenes  of  his  wild 
life  among  the  KafFres.  His  experiences  were  striking  and 
varied,  and  he  told  some  of  them  in  very  graphic  language. 
His  reading  had  evidently  been  of  men,  not  of  books,  and  he 
spoke  only  of  what  he  knew.  If  the  result  had  not  been 
to  raise  his  opinion  of  the  species,  it  at  least  bore  no  com- 
mon fruit  in  his  conversation,  which,  with  all  its  abruptness 
and  fierce  bitterness  at  times,  had  a  strange  fascination  for 
me.  His  touches  of  character  showed  rare  discrimination ; 
and  I  began,  after  nearly  an  hour's  conversation,  to  feel 
uncomfortably  conscious  that  he  saw  further  into  my 
thoughts  than  I  intended,  and  that  my  efforts  to  veil  myself, 
Olympus-like,  in  cloud  and  mist,  were  futile.  Twice  in  the 
course  of  my  conversation  at  the  supper-table  I  turned 
round  and  found  those  same  mysterious  eyes  I  had  before 
observed,  fixed  on  me  through  the  crowd.  I  could  not 
recall  where  I  had  seen  them :  it  was  the  vaguest  ghost  of 
a  memory.  They  made  me  almost  uncomfortable  for  a 
moment,  but  I  soon  forgot  them  in  my  companion's  enter- 
taining discourse.     Lady  Greybrook  at  last  interrupted  it. 

"  Rita,  my  dear,  sorry  to  disturb  you ;  but  Mr.  Murray 
has  been  persecuting  me  to  be  introduced.  You  must  try 
and  give  him  a  dance.  Here,  Mr.  Murray  !  —  "  Miss  Per- 
cival." 

The  very  type  of  a  healthy,  clean  young  Englishman 
came  up,  smooth  cheeked  and  bright  eyed,  with  a  pleasant 
briskness  of  demeanor  tliat  betokened  a  happy  home,  a  good 
temper,  and  a  love  of  field  sports.  He  danced  with  a  vigor 
which  was  quite  exhilarating  to  behold.  He  talked  of  every 
thing  with  the  keen  relish  of  enjoyment,  unimpaired  by  criti- 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  109 

cal  acumen ;  no  witty,  worldwise  aphorisms  — no  sharp-sighted 
arrows  of  observation  —  it  was  all  clear,  honest,  straight- 
forward, and  without  evincing  any  great  powers  of  mind, 
was  pleasant  and  as  refreshing,  after  a  good  deal  I  had 
listened  to  that  evening,  as  healthful  country  breezes  after 
the  rich  but  noxious  perfumes  of  a  conservatory. 

"Miss  Percival  and  I  have  struck  up  a  relationship," 
said  he  laughing,  to  Lady  Greybrook,  when  our  quadrille 
was  over.  "  We  find  we  are  neai'ly  connected.  My  aunt's 
husband's  brother  married  —  " 

"  Stop !  for  mercy's  sake !  I  have  not  a  strong  head. 
Why,  it  is  as  bad  as  that  dreadful  thing  about  Tom's  father 
and  Jack's  son,  which  I  never  yet  could  make  out.  Only 
think  of  finding  a  relation  at  a  ball !  '  Tis  the  very  founda- 
tion for  a  romance.  Coelebs,  or  Japliet  is  it,  who  goes  over 
the  world  in  search  of  a  wife  ?  I  see  it  all  before  me  ; 
perilous  adventures,  through  three  volumes,  and  a  marriage 
at  the  end  of  the  third  !  I  hope  you  're  not  within  the  pro- 
hibited degrees  of  consanguinity  ?  that  would  spoil  it  all, 
you  know." 

I  was  relieved  at  my  new  connection's  laughing  heartily, 
for  I  felt  slightly  uncomfortable  at  her  ladyship's  w^itticisms. 
The  young  mun  asked  leave  to  call  on  my  mother  next  day, 
and  went  off  to  dance,  and  as  soon  as  he  was  gone.  Lady 
Greybrook  said : 

"You  might  do  much  worse  than  that,  my  dear.  Sir 
Charles  Murray's  only  son ;  heir  to  eight  thousand  a  year, 
and  a  nice  place  in  Huntingdonshire.  A  sort  of  man,  too, 
that  you  would  twist  round  your  finger." 

"  Thank  you  for  the  compliment,  if  it  is  one,"  I  answered, 
laughing;  "but  I  have  no  talent  and  less  ambition  for  that 
sort  of  work.  I  should  be  afraid  of  entangling  myself  inex- 
tricably." 

We  did  not  wait  for  the  cotillon.  I  told  the  truth  when 
I  said  I  was  tired,  having  danced  a  great  deal,  and  amused 


110  RITA:  AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

myself  far  better  than  I  ever  expected  to  do.  I  was  proof 
against  the  prayers  of  three  heart-broken  gentlemen,  but  I 
allowed  one  the  consolation  of  putting  on  my  cloak  for  me, 
and  of  handing  me  to  the  carriage.  In  the  crowd  on  the 
stairs  was  my  father,  with  a  handsome  woman  on  his  arm. 

"  Who  is  that  lady  ?  "  I  whispered  to  Lady  Greybrook. 

"  Is  it  possible  you  don't  know  the  fair  one  whom  your 
father  so  constantly  rides  with  ?  " 

A  sharp  pain  shot  across  my  heart.  My  father  nodded, 
and  we  passed  on.  His  companion  gave  me  an  impertinent 
stare.  I  heard  nothing  of  all  the  nonsense  the  garrulous 
Frenchman  was  pouring  forth  as  a  libation  to  me  on  my  way 
down  stairs.  Lord  Rawdon  was  standing  near  the  carriage- 
door  in  a  sort  of  brigand's  cloak  and  hat.  Lady  Greybrook 
bent  forward,  after  she  was  in  the  carriage,  to  beg  him  to 
come  to  her  Opera-box  the  next  niglit.  He  signified  his 
assent,  and  as  we  drove  away,  he  stood  there  erect  and  sol- 
emn, slightly  raising  the  large  beaver  from  his  head,  while 
all  the  Frenchmen  round  broke  into  a  fever  of  little  bows. 

''  Do  you  know  her  ?  "  I  asked,  suddenly,  as  we  drove 
along. 

"  Who,  my  dear  ?   What  are  you  talking  about  ?  " 

"  The  person  Avhom  you  said  —  the  lady  my  father  was 
with." 

"  Oh,  no  !  I  don't  even  remember  her  name.  Not  one  of 
our  set  at  all.  One  meets  her  at  these  sort  of  places,  great 
crowds,  where  all  Paris  manages  to  get  —  but  never  in  good 
society.  Handsome,  don't  you  think  so  ?  but  shocking  style, 
so  very  decolletee.  We  always  laugh  at  the  colonel  very 
much  about  his  fair  friend." 

"  Do  you  ?  "  said  I,  as  the  carriage  stopped. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

I  RECEIVED  a  lettei-  from  my  aunt  Mary  the  following 
morning,  in  which,  by  a  curious  coincidence,  mention  was 
made  of  two  persons,  one  of  whom  I  had  heai'd  of  for  the 
first  time  the  previous  evening ;  the  other,  whose  acquaint- 
ance I  had  then  made. 

"  I  grieve  to  hear  that  you  are  so  soon  to  be  introduced 
into  the  Paris  world,"  she  w^rote.  "  With  your  father,  you 
will  be  placed  in  many  situations  of  diificulty,  requiring  all 
that  world-wisdom  to  steer  you  safely,  which,  at  your  age, 
you  cannot  have.  If  you  had  one  wise  female  friend  near 
you,  I  should  be  happier ;  good  Miss  Lateward  being  of  no 
use  in  this  case.  There  is  a  lady  spending  the  winter  in 
Paris,  of  whom  the  little  I  know  induces  me  to  think  she 
would  be  a  safe  and  useful  friend,  if  you  can  make  her 
such.  Her  name  is  Lady  Janet  Oglevie.  Neither  her 
appearance  nor  mannei's  are  particularly  prepossessing ; 
you  must  not  be  discouraged  by  that,  if  the  opportunity 
should  offer  of  becoming  acquainted.  I  know  some  excel- 
lent actions  of  this  woman,  though  I  am  personally  but 
slightly  acquainted  with  her  .  ,  .  Here  we  are  living  under 
orange-blossoms  and  summer  skies,  while  you,  no  doubt,  are 
shivering  in  Paris  ;  and  Emmy  has  benefited  by  the  change 
no  less  than  by  the  voyage  here,  which  we  performed  very 
prosperously  in  our  friend's  yacht,  touching  at  Cadiz,  Gib- 
raltar, etc.  We  shall  pi'obably  remain  here  till  March, 
when  the  winds  are  said  to  become  cold ;  then,  if  Mr. 
FoUet  should  ask  us,  we  may  perhaps  cruise  about  a  little  to 

(111) 


112  eita: 

Naples  and  so  on,  before  returning  to  England.  But  I  fear 
the  long  journey  through  France  for  Emmy,  and  therefore 
must  relinquish  the  hope  of  seeing  you  this  spring,  dear 

child,  for  we  shall  certainly  make  the  journey  by  sea 

P.  S.  There  is  a  young  connection  of  mine,  by  marriage, 
Mr.  Charles  Murray,  going  to  Paris.  Tell  your  mother  he 
is  a  son  of  our  old  acquaintance,  when  we  were  girls.  Sir 
Gilbert  will  probably  tell  him  to  call  on  her.  Charles 
Murray  has  been  well  brought  up,  I  believe,  and  is  prob- 
ably superior  to  most  of  the  young  men  you  will  meet  in 
society.  By-the-by,  if  your  father  should  throw  you  in  the 
company  of  a  certain  Lady  Greybrook,  remember  to  avoid 
her  in  every  possible  way." 

I  lay  in  bed,  revolving  this  and  other  advice  equally 
difficult  to  follow,  Avhich  my  dear  aunt's  letter  contained, 
until,  to  my  horror,  the  clock  struck  eleven.  Miss  Late- 
ward  pointed  to  her  watch  on  the  table,  and  I  held  out  my 
open  letter  when  I  entered  her  territory  ;  but  I  sat  down  at 
once  to  my  books,  and  tried  to  banish  in  them  the  strange 
confusion  of  thoughts  and  sounds  and  shapes  that  rose  there. 
It  was  hard  work.  The  sun  streamed  upon  Miss  Late- 
Avard's  spectacles  —  they  glittered  like  Mrs.  Fisher's  last 
night ;  then  an  organ  in  the  street  struck  up  the  waltz  I  had 
danced  with  that  strange  partner.  I  looked  out :  a  hard 
frost,  and  the  boys  sliding  in  the  gutters,  just  as  we  had 
glided  over  the  polished  parquet  of  the  ball-room  —  AYhat ! 
my  head  actually  turned  by  my  first  ball  ?     Come,  to  work. 

That  afternoon,  Rose  and  I  sat  by  our  mother's  sofa,  all 
three  working ;  I  relating  my  last  evening's  adventures,  they 
listening  and  questioning  and  demanding  further  detail,  and 
my  memory  was  sadly  perplexed  to  remember  how  all  the 
notable  beauties  were  dressed. 

"  I  shall  have  no  visitors  to-day,"  said  my  mother,  look- 
ing out  upon  the  blinding  snow  which  for  the  last  hour  had 
been  driving  steadily  against  the  window. 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  113 

« Yes,  mother,  I  think  you  will  have  one ; "  and  almost 
at  the  same  moment  came  a  ring  at  the  bell.  "  It  is  Mr. 
Murray.  He  is  not  a  Paris  dandy.  He  said  he  would  call, 
and  is  not  likely  to  be  kept  away  by  a  snowstorm." 

I  was  right,  he  came  in  with  glowing  cheeks,  sending  a 
stream  of  frosty  breath  before  him. 

My  mother  received  the  son  of  her  old  acquaintance  with 
her  usual  graceful  manner,  into  which,  perhaps,  additional 
warmfh  was  infused  from  the  fact  of  my  aunt's  special 
recommendation.  The  tinge  of  British  shyness,  Avhich  did 
not  sit  badly  on  him,  gradually  wore  off.  He  talked  of  his 
home  —  oh  !  it  was  much  changed  since  my  mother's  time  : 
the  governor  had  added  two  wings  ;  he  was  pretty  well,  but 
suffered  from  the  gout  —  it  prevented  his  hunting;  this 
weather  would  stop  the  hunting.  Was  there  any  skating  on 
the  Seine?  He  thought  Frenchmen  great  muffs,  for  his 
part,  but  he  liked  Paris  —  thought  he  should  spend  some 
time  here  —  and  so  on. 

"Have  you  known  Lady  Greybrook  long?"  asked  my 
mother,  when  there  was  a  pause  in  the  conversation. 

"  No ;  I  was  introduced  to  her  at  the  Embassy  the  other 
night.     She  seems  such  a  good-natured  person." 

"  Oh,  very,"  said  my  mother,  after  a  pause,  thinking  it 
necessary  to  say  something ;  "  she  was  one  of  tlie  Dalkeiths, 
you  know."     (As  if  that  accounted  for  it.) 

"  By-the-by,  Miss  Percival,  are  you  going  to  act  in  these 
theatricals  at  the  Embassy  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  know  there  were  going  to  be  any.  Have  you 
heard  who  the  actors  are  ?  " 

"Mrs.  Fisher  told  me  one  of  her  daughters  was  to 
perform,  but  I  believe  she  has  got  nothing  to  say.  Bomdge, 
of  the  Blues,  is  the  great  star.  He  is  a  very  good-looking 
fellow,  you  know,  and  does  the  sentimental  parts." 

"Acting  must  be  very  pleasant  if  one  has  any  talent  that 
way,  which  I  certainly  have  not.     Who  is  the  prima  donna  ? 

8 


114  RITA: 

I  suppose  there  is  some  lady  who  does  speak  in  the  course 
of  the  piece  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  —  Miss  "Wright ;  clever,  they  say  —  an  awfully 
sharp,  witty  young  lady.  Borridge  is  very  much  "nitten, 
so  the  love-scenes  will  be  quite  natural,  you  know.  Did 
you  hear  the  impertinent  speech  Ilawdon  made  her  ?  — 
advising  her  not  to  throw  away  her  birth- Wright  for  a  mess 
of  Borridge !  They  wanted  Rawdon  to  act,  but,  of  course, 
he  refused."  t 

"  Is  he  a  good  actor,  then  ?    And  why  '  of  course  ? '  " 

"  Oh !  because  he  can  do  any  thing  if  he  chooses,  only  he 
never  does  choose.  Capital  voice  —  but  no  one  can  ever 
get  him  to  sing ;  and  you  should  see  him  at  billiards  !  —  but 
he  scarcely  ever  plays.     Are  you  musical,  Miss  Pei'cival?" 

«  No,  not  all." 

"  But  very  fond  of  music,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  hardly  true  to  say  '  very  fond.'  Sometimes 
I  am,  but  not  always.     My  sister  has  all  the  musical  talent." 

"  Really  !  Do  you  play  or  sing  ?  "  turning  to  Rose. 

"Yes  —  no  —  play  —  only  a  little,"  she  stammered  out, 
with  a  pretty,  blushing  confusion. 

"  She  plays  with  great  feeling,  and  will  have  a  very  good 
voice,  I  think,"  said  my  mother.  "  "We  are  very  quiet 
people  and  never  entertain,  but  if  you  should  ever  feel 
inclined  to  drop  in  of  an  evening,  before  one  of  your  late 
parties,  I  should  be  very  glad,  and  we  might  have  some 
music." 

This,  though  apparently  no  very  great  act  of  hospitality, 
was  a  most  unexpected  move  of  my  mother's.  Her  ill 
health  and  my  father's  irregular  habits  had  obliged  her, 
many  years  ago,  to  give  up  receiving  visits  after  dinner, 
according  to  the  foreign  fashion.  The  drawing-room  then 
often  wore  the  appearance  of  a  stage  at  the  close  of  a  bloody 
tragedy,  strewed  with  bodies  in  every  attitude  and  state  of 
deshabille :  my  father  (if  he  chanced  to  be  at  home)  snoring 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  115 

in  slippers  by  the  fire ;  my  mother,  in  curl-papers,  stretched 
on  the  sofa  with  a,  pocket-handkerchief  over  her  face  ;  and 
we  jnniors  sprawled  about  the  fioor  like  ninepins.  This 
must  now  be  changed.  Henceforward  wc  must  literally,  as 
well  as  morally,  keep  our  lamps  trimmed  in  expectation  of 
this  visitor's  possible  advent. 

Charles  Murray  thanked  my  mother,  shook  hands  with 
us  all  round  (as  none  but  an  Englishman  would  have  done, 
Godw)less  him !),  and  took  his  leave.  No  sooner  was  he 
gone  than  each  took  up  his  note,  and  loud  was  the  trio  we 
sang  in  this  young  gentleman's  praise.  Mine  was  a  steady- 
sustained  bass  of  amiability  and  general  pleasantness ;  my 
mother  kept  up  a  running  passage  of  birth  and  breeding,^a3 
evinced  in  the  resemblance  to  his  father's  nose,  and  such 
well-shaped  feet ;  while  Rose  indulged  in  long  flights  and 
cadences,  always  returning  to  the  original  rnotivo,  "  Such 
beautiful  eyes ! " 

So  Mr.  Charles  Murray  made  a  favorable  impression ; 
and  my  father  announced  that  evening  that  he  should  call 
on  him,  and  even  hinted  at  the  possibility  of  asking  him  to 
dinner ;  whereat  my  mother  looked  grave,  as  knowing  .the 
state  of  our  culinary  establishment,  and  yet  did  not  alto- 
gether oppose  the  idea,  as  I  expected. 

Looking  over  the  journal  I  kept  very  carefully  in  those 
days,  I  am  amused  to  see  what  my  first  impressions  of  an 
opera  were  on  that  same  evening.  How  unnatural  I 
thought  it  that  people  should  sing  elaborate  airs,  or,  indeed, 
any  airs  at  all,  when  they  were  being  led  to  execution, 
stabbing  their  rivals,  and  in  sucli-likc  positions.  Above  all, 
how  irritated  I  was  when  the  lover,  instead  of  escaping,  as 
he  ought  (every  moment  being  precious),  came  forward  to 
the  footlights,  and  began  some  juggling  tricks  with  his  voice, 
throwing  it  up  out  of  sight,  and  catching  it  again  witli  great 
dexterity ;  which  argued,  I  am  afraid,  that  I  had  but  little 
natural  taste  for  the  lyrical  drama. 


116  RITA:  . 

An  old  gentleman,  -whom  Lady  Greybrook  introduced  as 
the  Marquis  d'Ofort,  came  into  the  box  very  soon  after  us,  • 
and  seated  himself  behind  me.  There  was  something  par- 
ticularly repulsive  to  me  about  this  old  man,  and  I  instinc- 
tively shrank  away  as  he  leaned  over  my  chair  and  began 
pouring  out  some  foded  compliments  of  the  date  of  the 
Empire.  His  hair,  which  was  dyed,  was  brushed  up  into  a 
sort  of  sheaf  at  the  top  of  his  head,  intended,  no  doubt,  to 
add  height  to  a  very  short  figure.  He  had  evidently  had 
recourse  to  art  to  conceal  the  ravages  of  time  and  dissipation 
on  his  face,  which  I  suppose  had  once  been  handsome, 
judged  by  a  hairdresser's  standard.  He  was  a  type  of  the 
elderly  French  Hyperion  ;  jahots  and  jewelled  snufF-box,  the 
eternal  red  ribbon  in  the  button-hole,  and  the  gold-headed 
cane ;  with  a  reputation  still  for  gallantry,  and  of  a  tloweiy 
speech,  but  lacking  wisdom  and  wit  to  know  the  true  graces 
that  belong  to  thrcescoi'e  years  and  ten. 

Presently  Lord  Rawdon  came  into  our  box,  and  was  at 
no  pains  to  conceal  his  annoyance  at  finding  the  place  he 
had  intended  to  occupy  already  filled.  Lady  Greybrook 
opened  a  fire  of  wit  on  him,  Avhich  he  hardly  answered,  but 
sat  in  the  back  of  the  box  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then 
walked  out. 

In  the  mean  time  the  first  act  was  over ;  and  to  avoid 
answering  all  the  nonsense  the  old  marquis  talked,  I  had 
been  reconnoitring  the  house  with  Lady  Greybrook's  glass. 
The  box  immediately  opposite  was  occupied  by  a  very  pale 
woman,  with  some  magnificent  jewels,  and  behind  her  chair 
two  or  three  men,  to  whom  she  occasionally  spoke,  directing 
their  attention,  as  it  appeared,  towards  our  box.  My 
curiosity  was  sufficiently  excited  to  ask  Lady  Greybrook 
who  it  was. 

"  Lord  Rawdon  will  tell  you,  my  dear.  Oh,  he  is  gone ! 
—  probably  to  her  box,  no  great  loss,  for  he  is  unbearable 
to-night  —  so  rude.     It  is  a  great  friend  of  his,  or  rather, 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  117 

perhaps,  a  great  admirer  —  Madame  Galoffska  —  a  most 
charming  woman,  so  spirituelle  —  pity  she  stammers,  though 
—  and  such  a  musician  !  only  she  is  so  aiFected.  She  was 
handsome,  too,  when  I  first  knew  her  at  St.  Petersburg  — 
but  she  has  always  some  desperate  'passi07i '  for  some  one 
or  other,  and  nothing  wears  a  woman  out  like  that." 

"  Is  she  a  widow,  then .'' " 

"•  Ya  —  as.  Oh  !  yes  ;  or  separated  from  her  husband, 
whicPis  the  same  thing.  The  Emperor  admired  her  very 
much,  and  sent  the  husband  off  on  some  special  mission  — 
to  Siberia,  probably.  Her  present  infatuation  is  for  Lord 
Rawdon,  but  he  seems  extremely  cool  about  it.  She  was 
dying  of  jealousy  all  the  time  he  was  here,  I  know.  Look  ! 
there,  he  has  just  gone  into  her  box  —  now  she'll  be  happy 
for  the  night.  Just  watch  him  —  he  is  not  listening  to  a 
word  she  says,  but  looking  over  here  all  the  time.  I  know 
I  could  easily  get  him  back.     "Wliat  fun  it  would  be  ! " 

At  the  end  of  the  next  act,  "  Cher  marquis,"  she  said, 
"  would  you  mind  asking  for  my  carriage  ?  I  doubt  whether 
I  shall  remain  to  the  end  of  the  next  act,  for  we  have  to  go 
on  to  the  Austrian  embassy." 

The  Marquis  tottered  nimbly  to  his  feet,  and  bowed  ;  but 
looked,  nevertheless,  as  if  he  did  very  much  mind  being  sent 
out  into  the  cold,  and  as  if  he  tliought  her  ladyship  ought  to 
keep  some  young  attache  in  waiting  for  such  services.  He 
seized  his  opera-hat,  however,  and  velvet-lined  cloak,  and 
when  he  was  gone  Lady  Greybrook,  making  an  almost 
imperceptible  movement  with  her  fan  towards  the  Galoffska 
box,  said, 

"  You  will  be  relieved  from  the  bore  of  the  old  Marquis, 
my  love,  for  the  remainder  of  the  evening ;  but  you  must  be 
more  patient  under  the  infliction  in  future.  If  he  only  tvotcld 
fancy  you,  my  dear,  you  Jiave  no  idea  what  a  thing  it  would 
be.  The  richest  pair  de  France,  and  one  of  the  highest 
families." 


118  rita: 

Lord  Rawdon  entered  the  box  and  sat  down  beside  me. 

"How  is  the  Galoifska?"  began  Lady  Greybrook.  ''Un- 
feeling monster  that  you  are !  She  will  go  home  and  admin- 
ister the  knout  to  her  maid  out  of  rage  at  your  desertion. 
Not  that  I  believe  all  the  stories  about  her ;  but  she  really 
does  look  so  ghastly  to-night  —  whether  it  is  that  wreath  or 
what ;  and  I  know,  by  the  movement  of  her  head,  she  has 
been  stammering  so  desperately  in  her  efforts  to  be  ajjrreea- 
ble  to  you  that  I  should  not  be  sui-jDrised  to  hear  —  "  ' 

"  In  short,  you  think  that  the  woman  wdio  hesitates  is  lost. 
Miss  Percival,  Avhy  do  n't  you  smile  ?  You  look  bored.  Is 
Eogei-,  the  tenor,  or  I  the  culprit  ?  " 

"  He  is  a  wretched  actor  —  perhaps  you  are  a  good  one. 
I  heard  so  to-day,  at  least  —  but  I  am  tired,  and  longing  to 
get  home." 

In  fact,  I  did  not  much  fancy  the  sort  of  rivalship  in  which 
Lady  Greybrook  had  [)laced  me  with  Madame  Galoffska, 
and  I  was  glad  when  the  Marquis  at  last  reappeared  to  say 
the  carriage  w^as  ready.  The  opera  was  nearly  over,  and 
many  boxes  Avere  already  empty.  Lord  Rawdon  offered  me 
his  arm,  and  in  the  lobby  we  met  the  Russian,  leaning  on 
one  of  her  attendant  cavaliers.  Lady  Greybrook  and  she 
greeted  each  other  as  cordially  as  two  jealous  ladies  gener- 
ally do,  congratulating  each  other  on  their  looks  and  their 
toilettes  with  edifying  warmth. 

"  Vous  etes  ravissante  avec  cette  coiffure,  chere  comtesse ; 
e'est  a  en  perdre  la  lete ! " 

"  Et  vous,  chere  Lady  Greybrook,  c-c-c-comme  vous  avez 
b-b-b-b-bonne  mine !     C'est  votre  fiUe  ?  " 

Of  course  she  knew  who  I  was,  and  my  estimate  of  her 
general  sincerity  was  not  altered  when  I  heard  her  whisper 
to  her  companion  as  she  passed  us, 

"  Mon  Dieu !  c-c-comrae  elle  est  fardee  cette  vieille  An- 
glaise ! " 

In  going  down  the  stairs  I  found  I  had  dropped  my  fan  in 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  119 

the  crowd,  whicli  had  begun  to  pour  out.  I  begged  Lord 
Kawdon  to  go  back  and  look  for  it.  A  little  old  lady  in  a 
grey  cloak  brushed  by  us  at  the  same  moment,  gathering  up 
her  garments  as  she  passed  Lady  Greybrook,  with  a  look 
that  might  have  become  the  days  of  the  Plague. 

A  minute  or  two  afterwards,  a  hand  —  whose  I  could  not 
see  —  was  stretched  out  to  me  from  the  crowd  of  heads. 
There  was  my  fan,  and  twisted  between  its  sticks  a  small 
piec^of  paper,  apparently  a  leaf  torn  out  of  a  pocket-book, 
with  something  written  on  it  in  pencil.  As  I  stood  under  a 
lamp.  I  could  read  these  words :  "  You  are  in  a  dangerous 
position  —  trust  the  gray  mantle  who  passed  you  just  now." 
I  thrust  the  paper  into  my  bosom. 

"  I  have  found  my  fan,  Lord  Rawdon,"  said  I,  as  he  came 
back.  "  Some  one  picked  it  up.  And  now  tell  me,  if  you 
can,  who  is  that  lady  in  a  grey  cloak  —  there,  just  getting 
into  her  carriage  ?  " 

"  Lady  Janet  Oglevie  —  one  of  the  few  honest  women  in 
Paris  ;  and  she  hates  me." 

As  we  were  di-iving  home.  Lady  Greybrook  unexpectedly 
began  talking  of  the  very  person  who  was  in  my  thoughts. 

"  I  liope  that  odious  woman,  Lady  Janet,  won't  be  at  Mr. 
Griffith's  dejeuner  on  Saturday.  She  is  quite  enough  to 
spoil  any  thing  —  a  sort  of  skeleton  at  a  feast  —  and  his  are 
such  pleasant  little  parties,  when  she  is  not  there.  A  con- 
nection of  his,  I  believe." 

"  Does  she  go  much  into  the  world  ?  Has  she  any  daugh- 
ters ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  —  never  had  any  children.  That  absurd  woman, 
Mrs.  Oglevie  Fisher,  is  the  widow  of  her  step-son ;  and  they 
don't  exactly  suit,  I  should  think,  as  Lady  Janet  is  the  most 
straight-laced  old  Scotchwoman,  and  far  too  righteous,  to 
belong  to  the  set  the  Fishers  do.  I  wonder,  indeed,  at  see- 
ing licr  at  the  Opera.  She  is  one  of  those  people  who  rail 
against  English  residents  abroad,  and  calls  Paris  '  a  den  of 
iniquity.' " 


120  RITA:   AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

"  Rather  inconsistent,  is  it  not,  her  coming  here  herself?" 

"  Those  inconsistencies  are  remarkably  common,  and  I 
suppose  she  would  tell  you  she  had  some  good  reason.  But 
here  we  are  at  your  door.  Good  night,  dear.  Go  and 
dream  of  a  marquis's  coronet  and  an  hotel  in  the  Faubourg 
St.  Gei'main." 

Instead  of  dreaming,  I  lay  awake  a  great  part  of  the  night, 
thinkino;  of  the  strano;e  communication  I  had  received,  until 
I  had  made  up  my  mind  that  it  was  probably  Avritten  Wy  the 
little  old  lady  herself,  between  whom  and  Lady  Greybrook 
there  was  evidently  no  love  lost.  As  to  the  counsel  itself,  I 
was  perfectly  ready  to  make  a  friend  of  the  "  Gi-ay  Mantle  " 
—  the  more  so  at  my  aunt's  special  recommendation  — 
should  the  opportunity  offer.  In  the  mean  time,  my  position 
was  none  of  my  own  choosing.  I  could  not  alter  it,  if  I 
would.  . 

Would  I,  if  I  could  ? 

How  we  play  the  hypocrite  with  our  own  hearts !  Per- 
haps, after  all  my  self-protestations,  it  would  have  cost  me 
something  to  withdraw  from  the  brilliant  world  into  which  I 
was  now  launched. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Mr.  Griffiths  was  an  old  bachelor  of  good  fortune,  and 
of  what  Mrs.  Oglevie  Fisher  termed  a  "  refoined  mind." 
That  is,  he  was  fond  of  pictures  and  good  dinners,  and  in  his 
small  hotel  every  thing  was  in  perfect  taste  —  as  irreproach- 
able as  was  the  smooth  and  pohshed  old  gentleman  Avho  pre- 
sided there.  He  chose  his  company  with  no  less  fastidious- 
ness than  the  rest  of  his  furniture.  At  his  small  mornins: 
parties  only  what  was  pleasant  and  attractive,  either  in  looks 
or  conversation,  was  assembled  —  if  I  except  such  necessary 
bores  as  his  connections,  the  Fishers,  and  such  lions  as  are 
held  privileged  to  be  dull  or  sulky  in  society,  when,  like 
their  brethren  of  the  forest,  they  are  indisposed  to  roar. 

Lady  Greybrook  and  I  entered  Mr.  Griffiths'  miniature 
picture-gallery,  and  found  some  twenty  people  there.  A 
knot  of  men  in  the  centre  of  the  room  talking  the  learned 
jargon  of  art.  A  knot  of  dowagers  in  juvenile  attire,  among 
whom  Mrs.  Fisher  was  conspicuous,  falling  into  ecstasies 
over  some  Sevres  cups  and  saucers.  A  flirtation  was  bein"- 
carried  on  opposite  a  Magdalene  of  Guide's,  and  another,  a 
little  further  off,  at  the  piano,  over  an  unsung  duet  of  Gabus- 
si's.  A  cloud  of  young  ladies  were  hovering  about,  like 
Zephyrs,  between  the  statues  and  large  baskets  of  flowers 
that  stood  at  distances  down  the  room,  and  made  altogether 
a  very  pretty  picture.  One  figure  only  sat  in  solitary  dig- 
nity on  a  sofa  near  the  fire,  looking  rigid  and  stony  to  the 
last  degree,  in  a  slate-colored  dress.     It  was  Lady  Janet. 

Mr.  Griffiths  received  us  with  that  mixture  of  cordiality 

(121) 


122  RITA: 

and  courtliness  whicli  belongs  to  a,  past  day.  Lord  Raw- 
don's  shake  of  the  hand  just  after  formed  a  notable  contrast  to 
it.  Not  that  his  was  by  any  means  the  limp  grasp  —  the 
unstifFeninf^  of  the  knee-joints  and  collapse  of  the  whole  per- 
son which  young  England  so  much  affects  now,  but  rather  the 
free  and  easy  greeting  of  a  man  who  is  confident  of  being 
well  received. 

Mrs.  Fisher,  followed  by  one  of  her  cygnets,  swam  for- 
wards, and,  arching  her  neck,  expressed  "the  deloight"  she 
felt  at  meeting  Lady  Greybrook,  and  begged  I  might  be 
presented  to  her,  whereupon  she  presented  her  cygnet,  and 
we  talked  young  ladies'  platitudes  with  becoming  imbe- 
cility. 

Madame  Galoffska  was  announced  soon  after  this,  and 
entered  with  a  sweet  infantine  grace,  acknowledging  the  sal- 
utations of  her  friends.  Lady  Janet,  meantime,  apparently 
took  no  cognizance  of  the  outer  world,  but  stared  straight 
before  her  at  a  buhl  cabinet  in  the  corner,  as  Avho  should 
say,  "  Nothing  shall  induce  me  to  lean  back  or  otherwise 
compromise  myself."  I  was  lost  in  contemplation  of  this 
unprepossessing  figure,  when  I  heard  Mr.  Griffiths  say  to 
a  gentleman,  whose  back  was  towards  me, 

"  Here,  Hubert,  I  want  to  inti-oduce  you  to  Lady  Grey- 
brook.  Allow  me  to  present  my  nephew  to  you :  Lady 
Grevbrook  —  Mr.  Rochford ;  Miss  Percival  —  Mr.  Roch- 
ford?' 

I  almost  started  when  I  recognized  those  strange,  search- 
ing eyes.     He  smiled  slightly.     - 

"  I  believe  you  are  fond  of  pictures.  Miss  Percival."  (How 
does  he  know  that?  I  thought,  but  answered,  of  course, 
something  very  different.)  "  Let  me  do  the  honors  of  my 
uncle's  collection,  which  is  a  small,  but  very  good  one.  Here 
we  begin  with  the  early  Italian  and  German  schools,  of 
which  there  are  some  very  good  specimens,  and  go  round  the 
walls."     And,  thereupon,  he  led  me  down  the  room  grad- 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  123 

ually,  telling  an  anecdote  of  one  painter,  pointing  out  the 
subtle  beauties  of  another  —  crude  Siennese,  on  gold 
grounds  —  early  Florentines,  full  of  a  poetry  of  their  own; 
grand  and  individual  types.  There  was  no  ostentation  of 
learning  in  his  conversation :  it  had  been  a  labor  of  love 
with  him  to  know  something  about  these  men  and  their 
works,  and  he  spoke  of  them  in  the  inartificial  language  of 
honest  appreciation,  not  in  the  sliced  phrases  of  a  pedant. 
His  manner  was  grave  and  earnest ;  the  expression  of  his 
face  habitually  severe,  but  when  he  smiled,  the  whole  face 
was  lit  with  sunshine,  and,  like  the  words  of  a  silent  person, 
these  smiles  gained  value  from  their  rarity.  Lord  Rawdon 
sauntered  up  just  as  I  was  hearing  something  of  the  portrait 
of  a  Riccardi,  by  Lippo  Lippi. 

"  His  name  was  Giorgio,  so,  by  a  license  common  in  his 
day,  Lippo  made  a  saint  of  him,  put  him  on  his  best  suit 
of  Milan  steel,  and  he  is  handed  down  to  posterity  as  Saint 
George." 

"  Fra  Lippo  did  not  succeed  as  well  in  making  a  saint  of 
himself,  in  spite  of  his  Carmelite  hood,"  said  Rawdon. 

"We  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  artist's  life,"  said 
Hubert  Rochford ;  "  that  he  was  a  great  painter  ought  to  be 
enough  for  us." 

"  Can  you  really  separate  the  man  from  his  works  ? "  I 
said.  "  I  always  feel  so  curious  to  know  every  thing  that  con- 
cerns the  author  or  painter  who  really  gives  me  pleasure, 
and  I  have  thought  that  such  an  interesting  book  might  be 
written,  showing  how  often  outward  influences  have  affected 
different  men's  works — a  sort  of  philosophy  of  art." 

"  So  treated,  it  might  be  instructive,  as  well  as  interesting, 
to  trace  the  workings  of  the  Flemish  and  Italian  minds,  for 
instance,  and  compare  them  in  any  one  century  —  how  real- 
istic the  one  always  was,  even  in  the  treatment  of  sacred 
subjects,  and  how  singular  that  the  other  should  never  have 
painted  a  domestic  scene  —  nothing  but  mythology,  when 


124  RITA: 

they  were  not  employed  on  Holy  Families  for  their  convents 
and  churches  ;  and  yet  the  Italian  peasantry  of  the  fourteenth 
century  must  have  been  wonderfully  picturesque.  But  all 
this  is  different  from  the  mania  for  biography,  which  does 
infinitely  more  harm  than  good,  I  think,  in  the  present  day. 
We  are  bound  to  accept  what  is  great  in  the  man  with 
thankfulness,  not  to  rake  up  all  the  wretched  scandals  of  a 
life.     It  can  do  no  one  any  good." 

"  The  shades  of  Brantouie  and  all  illustrious  gossips  con- 
found you,  Rochford,"  said  Rawdon.  "  You  would  do  away 
with  all  the  romance  of  history  —  all  the  '  memoires  secretes 
pour  servir,'  etc.  "Well,  for  my  part,  I  hke  to  know  what 
kind  of  soap  Maria  Antoinette  used ;  and  Louis  Quartorze's 
shirt,  and  Mrs.  Masham's  basin  of  water,  are  more  interest- 
ing to  me  than  Marlborough's  and  Conde's  battles.  I  am 
by  no  means  a  great  reader,  Miss  Percival,  but  these  details 
make  me  feel  that  the  illustrious  dead  were  flesh  and  blood, 
like  myself.  The  scandalous  chronicle  of  Fair  Rosamond  is 
positively  the  only  thing  I  remember  about  our  own  Henry, 
and " 

"  Pardon  me,  my  dear  lord  ! "  interrupted  Mrs.  Fisher, 
who  had  been  watching  her  opportunity  to  fasten  on  her 
prey,  "  the  best  authorities  are  agreed  in  desoiding  that  story 
to  be  apocryphal." 

"  I  hate  all  authorities,  ma'am ! "  growled  Rawdon,  with 
an  amusing  assumption  of  the  savage  Johnsonian  manner. 
"  If  the  bones  of  Henry  Plantagenet  were  to  rise  and  con- 
tradict me,  ma'am,  I  should  still  believe  what  I  learnt  in  my 
nursery." 

We  left  him  in  the  toils  of  the  Fisher,  and  walked  on. 

"  Now-a-days,"  said  Rochford,  "  no  sooner  is  a  great  man 
dead  —  nay,  before  he  is  dead,  sometimes  —  than  all  his 
secret  weaknesses  and  miseries  are  dranrsred  into  the  lisht. 
Nothing  is  held  sacred.  There  is  an  eminent  composer  still 
living,  whose  early  career  of  vice  is  already  published  for  the 


V  AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  125 

world's  benefit.  Suppose  a  memoir  of  Shakespeare  (whose 
life  we  know  less  of  than  almost  any  other  great  poet,  except 
Horner),  were  to  turn  up,  and  that  we  found  the  man  fall  far 
short  of  the  poet,  the  world  would  hail  it,  of  course  as  an 
invaluable  literary  treasure,  but  would  it  really  be  such  a 
gain  ?  I  doubt  it.  Byron's  private  life,  which  he  himself 
ostentatiously  paraded  to  the  world,  made  men  imao^ine,  for 
a  time,  that  mental  power  and  moral  depravity  were  almost 
inseparable;  and  the  consequence  was,  that  for  years,  as 
Carlyle  says,  '  some  transcript  of  Milton's  Devil '  was  the 
universal  beau  ideal.  The  fashion  for  it  has  passed,  as  all 
fashions  do ;  but  we  still  occasionally  see  traces  of  such  an 
evil  influence "  (and  he  said  this,  I  thought,  with  marked 
emphasis),  "  for,  if  true  of  the  very  meanest  life,  that  its 
workings  are  felt  through  all  eternity,  doubly  true  is  it  of 
such  a  man's.  The  less  we  hear  of  its  unedifying  details, 
the  better." 

We  had  wandered,  as  our  conversation  had  done,  from  the 
pictures,  and  were  standing  in  a  doorway,  when  Mr.  Griffiths 
came  up,  bringing  with  him  Lady  Greybrook  and  Mrs. 
Fisher,  from  whom  Eawdon  had  broken  away. 

"  Here  are  a  few  modern  masters  in  this  room,  Mesdames, 
if  you  care  for  them." 

"  Modern  pictures  !  me  dear  Mr.  Griffiths,  with  gems  of 
ancient  art  around  me !  I  have  the  bad  taste  only  to  care 
for  the  old  mausters." 

"  You  will  find  one  or  two  good  things,  though  they  are 
by  modern  painters,  in  there,  I  think,"  said  the  old  gentle- 
man, good-humoredly  ;  and,  as  we  all  followed  him,  "  Here 
is  a  AVilkie,"  he  continued,  "  what  do  you  say  to  that  ?  And 
here  is  a  Decamps  that  has  been  very  much  admired ;  and 
here  a  Bonnington  and  a  Constable,  side  by  side  —  the  two 
English  artists  who  have  had  such  an  influence  over  the 
modern  French  school.  Here  is  a  little  sketch  from  '  Faust' 
by  Ary  Scheffer  —  what  do  you  say  to  that  ?  " 


126  RITA: 

"  Ha !  very  sweet,  indeed  !  chiaro  scuro  perfect,"  said  the 
swan,  doubling  up  her  fist  before  her  eyes,  with  the  airs  of 
connoisseurship.  "  Me  dear  Sir,  I  stand  corrected  before 
this  great  work  —  as  foine  as  Raflfaelle,  'tis  indeed  —  truly 
the  mellitluence  of  pictoi-ial  harmony  ! " 

"  And  what  is  this  ?  "  said  Lady  Greybrook,  who  had  fol- 
lowed us,  and  was  standing  before  a  small  easel  with  its  back 
to  me.  "  Pretty  little  thing  —  very.  Whose  is  it,  Mr. 
Griffiths?" 

"  Oh  !  that  is  by  a  young  artist  in  great  distress,  I  believe. 
My  nephew  bought  it  some  time  ago  —  wants  force,  but 
there  is  a  nice  feeling  for  color  in  it,  is  n't  there  ?  " 

"  Chaifming ! "  cried  Mrs.  Fisher,  who  seemed  suddenly 
to  have  found  a  taste  for  modern  art ;  "  quite  chawming  ! 
What's  his  name  ?  —  in  distress,  did  you  say?  Would  give 
lessons  cheap,  no  doubt.  Just  the  style  I  should  like  me 
daughters  to  paint  in." 

I  had  gone  round,  and  was  leaning  over  the  mighty  sweep 
of  the  lady's  shoulder.  My  cheeks  w^ere  very  red;  for  the 
reader  will  have  guessed  the  fact  that  I  recognized  my  own 
performance,  which  I  sold  to  Ismael.  A  light  suddenly 
broke  in  upon  me.  I  glanced  up,  and  found  Rochford's 
eye  fixed  on  me,  after  his  peculiar  fashion.  Then,  for  the 
first  time,  I  remembered  where  it  was  I  had  seen  them 
before. 

"  I  can  tell  you  nothing  about  him  myself,  my  dear 
Madam,"  said  the  old  gentleman.  "  I  believe  my  nephew 
knows  the  artist's  name,  but  there  was  a  foolish  mystery 
made  about  it  wdien  I  asked  Ismaeh  He  said  something 
about  a  distressed  wife  and  ten  children,  so  I  conclude  the 
poor  fellow  would  be  glad  enough  to  give  lessons." 

The  eyes  never  released  their  hold  on  me.  "  He  knows 
the  truth,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  and  is  wondering  whether  I 
should  have  moral  courage,  before  all  these  fine  people,  to 
confess  that  I  was  the  poor  artist.     There  was  no  obligation, 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHT.  127 

certainly,  and  yet  I  should  like  to  show  him  that  I  am  per- 
fectly indifferent  to  their  opinion." 

1^0  doubt  there  was  a  good  deal  of  bravado  in  this,  for  the 
company  had  most  of  them  flocked  into  the  room,  and  it 
required  some  assurance  to  raise  one's  voice  at  all  in  such 
an  assembly.  There  was  Captain  Borrage,  that  burly  Life- 
Guardsman,  handling  his  moustaches  with  a  supercilious  air 
over  the  back  of  the  easel ;  two  or  three  tittering  misses, 
ready-armed  with  javelins  ;  and  Madame  Galoffska,  with  her 
double-barrelled  glass  levelled  full  at  me. 

"  I  am  the  best  able  to  answer  any  questions  about  this 
picture,  Mr.  Griffiths,"  I  said  at  last,  in  a  distinct  voice,  "  as 
it  was  painted  and  sold  by  me.  I  am  sorry  Monsieur  Ismael 
thought  it  necessary  to  tell  any  stories  about  it,  though  he 
was  not  at  liberty  to  mention  my  name." 

Lady  Greybrook  turned  sharply  round,  colored,  and 
seemed  about  to  speak,  but  did  not.  There  was  an  awful 
pause.  Most  of  the  women  stared  at  each  other  as  if  they 
thought  I  had  gone  mad.  To  commit,  and  then  to  confess 
such  an  outrage  on  their  class !  One  or  two  only,  looked  at 
me  with  well-bred  astonishment,  and  said  something  about 
its  being  wonderful  for  a  person  who  was  not  an  artiste. 
Hubert  Rochford's  eyes  betrayed  no  surprise ;  but,  if  I  read 
their  expression  aright,  something  of  pleasure  and  approval. 
Our  courtly  host,  as  soon  as  he  had  recovered  from  the  shock 
caused  by  my  announcement,  delivered  himself  of  a  neatly- 
turned  speech,  in  which  his  surprise  was  conveyed  in  flatter- 
ing terms,  and  terminated  with  this  flowery  figure :  — 

"  It  requires  only  the  forcing-bed  of  necessity  to  bring 
your  talent  to  full  fruit,  my  dear  young  lady.  Brutal  as  it 
may  seem,  therefore,  I  am  almost  tempted  to  regret  the  dis- 
tressed mother  and  ten  children." 

This  happy  turn  gave  the  company  an  opportunity  of 
laughing,  and  relieved  the  uncomfortable  silence.  Mrs. 
Fisher,  indeed,  turned  round,  and  solemnly  assured  me  she 


128  ,  RITA : 

« 

considered  it  "a  most  creditable  performance  for  an  ama- 
teur ; "  but  this  had  not  the  effect  so  gloomy  a  compliment 
might  have  been  expected  to  produce,  for,  following  as  it  did 
her  late  extravagant  praise,  it  was  very  merrily  received  by 
Lord  Rawdon  and  one  or  two  others. 

'•  Me  dear  Lord,"  she  hissed  into  his  ear  —  not  so  low  but 
that  I  caught  every  word  —  '■'■Ongtre  nous,  it's  all  out  of 
drawing.  Look  at  the  Lifant's  thumb  !  the  articulation  of 
the  muscles  in  the  Virgin's  neck  —  all  the  loins  —  " 

"  Loins,  Mrs.  Fisher  ?  It  is  fortunate  there  is  no  Ameri- 
can here ! " 

"  Loins  of  the  neck,  you  wicked  man.  You  know,  uri' 
fortunately,  I  have  such  a  critical  eye." 

"  Wiukleman  was  a  joke  to  3'ou,"  said  his  Lordship.  I 
am  afraid  he  intended  it  for  a  pun. 

The  company  began  to  move  off  to  the  breakfast-room. 

"  Young  woman,"  said  a  harsh  voice,  and  Lady  Janet 
Oglevie  held  out  her  hand,  "  I  respect  you.  You  do  right 
in  turning  God's  talent  to  account,  and  you  do  better  in  not 
being  ashamed  to  own  it." 

I  was  taken  so  completely  by  surprise  that  I  had  not  a 
word  to  say.     She  continued  : 

"  Most  lasses  would  have  shrunk  from  telling  the  truth. 
They  all  looked  queerly  at  you,  did  n't  they  ?  Vain,  empty- 
headed  things  !  —  you  're  worth  them  all  \ini  together. 
"What  brings  you  here  ?  What  have  you  got  to  do  with  any 
one  of  them  ?  Bad  company  —  very  bad  company  for  a 
young  thing  like  you.  The  Miss  Oglevie  Fishers!  —  yes: 
but  they  've  got  their  mother  —  and  a  wise  one  she  is,  too  ! 
I  have  nothing  to  say  to  their  way  of  going  on.  Did  n't  I 
see  you  come  into  the  room  with  that  —  ?  Hem !  Perhaps 
after  all,  you  are  very  poor  —  that  story  about  the  distress, 
not  far  wrong,  eh  ?  AYell,  never  mind,  don't  be  angry.  I 
like  your  modest  looks.  What 's  your  name  ?  I  '11  be  your 
friend." 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  129 

It  is  impossible  to  give  an  idea  of  the  sharp,  irritable,  in- 
quisitive look  and  mannei',  that  accompanied  these  questions 
and'retharks. 

"  I  am  much  obhged  to  you.  Lady  Janet.  My  name  is 
Percival.  I  have  no  relations  here;  but  you  know  my 
aunt,  Lady  Dacre,  I  think  ?  " 

"Very  little  —  good  woman,  I  believe  —  had  a  fool  of  a 
husband,  whom  she  managed  capitally.  "Where  is  she? 
Why  don't  she  keep  you  out  of  all  this  mud,  eh  ?  " 

"  She  is  in  Italy.  I  am  just  come  out,  and  my  mother 
being  an  invalid,  her  friend,  Lady  Greybrook,  is  kind 
enough  — " 

"  Friend  !  friend  !  "  she  muttered.  "  Better  a  millstone 
were  hanged  about  your  neck,  child.  Percival  —  daughter 
of  Colonel  Percival's?  —  hem?  thought  so."  Then,  after 
a  moment's  reflection,  "  I  shall  call  on  your  mother  to- 
morrow." 

She  took  my  arm,  and  led  me  into  the  breakfast-room, 
where  most  of  the  guests  were  already  seated  at  a  table  ar- 
tistically laid  out  with  fruit  and  flowers  in  gold  vessels  of  all 
forms  and  sizes ;  rare  jars  of  Venice  glass,  containing  East- 
ern preserves,  and  figures  of  old  Dresden,  laden  with  baskets 
of  hon-hons.  The  admiration  of  all  this,  and  the  expecta- 
tion of  a  good  breakfast,  had  put  every  one  into  good 
humor,  and  they  were  laughing  very  heartily  when  we 
appeared  ;  but  Lady  Janet  soon  put  a  stop  to  that ;  a  bhght 
immediately  fell  upon  the  conversation  at  our  end  of  the 
table,  which  visibly  drooped  and  died  away  in  fragments. 
I  sat  between  her  and  the  Life-Guardsman,  who  confined 
his  attentions  to  a  lady  upon  the  other  side  of  him  —  Miss 
Wright,  as  I  afterwards  learnt  —  nor  addressed  a  word  to 
me,  beyond  mere  bread-and-salt  civilities.  As  Lady  Janet 
did  not  open  her  lips  either,  I  should  have  had  a  meal  of 
Trappist  character,  but  for  the  amusement  I  found  in  watch- 
ing my  opposite  neighbors.     Madame  GalofFska  had  managed 

9 


130  RITA : 

that  Lord  Rawdon  should  sit  next  her.  She  was  employhig 
all  the  artillery  of  her  clianns,  by  turns  languid,  infantine, 
impassioned.  But  on  the  other  side  of  the  noble  Lord, 
]\Ii-s.  Fisher,  by  a  dexterous  manoeuvre,  had  planted  herself, 
and  showed  no  disposition  to  abandon  the  field  to  the  Rus- 
sian. She  opened  the  attack  with  vigor,  and  the  struggle 
between  these  ladies  lasted  nearly  an  hour,  until  her  an- 
tagonist made  a  bold  stroke,  and  carried  the  day  by  a  coup 
de  main. 

"  Milord,"  putting  back  her  long  curls  and  half  closing 
her  eyes,  "  Je  me  sens  defaillante  —  c-c-c-conduisez-moi,  je 
vous  en  prie,  au  s-s-s  —  " 

"  Au  sacrifice  ?  "  suggested  Rawdon. 

"  Au  salon,  milord," 

What  could  he  do  but  offer  his  arm  ?  When  we  entered 
the  drawing-room  a  quarter  of  an  hour  after,  Madame 
Galoffska  Avas  at  the  piano,  and  Rawdon  leaning  on  the 
back  of  a  chair  at  her  side.  She  knew  that  here  she  was 
omnipotent ;  no  one  with  a  soul  for  music  could  resist  the 
charm  of  her  playing,  and  once  upon  her  throne,  she  feared 
no  rival.  As  she  very  seldom  played,  the  world  treated  the 
performance  with  a  respect  seldom  paid  to  piano-forte  play- 
ing. Not  a  word  was  spoken  when  she  was  at  the  instru- 
ment. No !  Mistress  Fisher,  even  you  must  be  silent 
awhile,  or  you  will  be  hissed  down. 

The  syren  made  a  feint  of  rising,  but  being  duly  entreated, 
besran  rubbin";  her  lar";e  white  hands,  while  we  gathered 
round  her  in  a  circle.  Then  her  eyes  wandered  vaguely 
over  the  group,  as  if  seeking  inspiration  —  wrapt  in  a  vision 
of  far-off  things  —  until  they  lighted  on  me  with  an  expres- 
sion that  made  me  shiver.  Rawdon  had  given  me  his  chair, 
but  still  leaned  on  the  back  of  it. 

"  Don't  look  at  her  face,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  and 
you  '11  fancy  it  is  an  angel  playing." 

When  she  bent  her  eyt^,  and  their  cold  expression  was 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  131 

veiled,  I  thought  he  was  wrong.  The  marble-cut  face,  with 
lips  slightly  parted,  was  almost  divine,  presiding  over  the 
grand  and  heavenly  melodies  of  Beethoven  and  Mozart. 
Then,  after  some  of  Chopin's  wild  mazourkas,  she  beo-an  to 
give  specimens  of  the  modern  "  Romantic  School,"  as  it 
calls  itself;  mental  aberrations  they  appeared  to  me,  with- 
out rhyme  or  reason.  This,  however,  she  told  us,  was 
the  music  that  would  ultimately  triumph  over  every  other 
—  the  perfect  marriage  of  melody  and  verse ;  each  word 
in  the  text  with  its  proper  musical  synonyme.  As  she 
went  on  with  her  little  impediment  of  speech,  to  explain 
the  theory,  it  was,  indeed,  a  very  pretty  piece  of  German 
mysticism.  We  had  outlived  antiquated  forms  —  these 
were  the  days  for  straight-to-the-heartedness  —  for  throw- 
ing aside  all  that  was  false  —  for  the  worship  of  the  true 
and  the  earnest. 

"  Enfin,"  she  added,  "  cette  musique-la,  r-r-remjilit  un 
b-b-b  — " 

"  Bal  ?  —  Bete  ?  —  Bain  chaud  ?  "  inquired  Rawdon. 

"  Un  besoin  metaphysiquc  de  fame,  milord." 

There  was  a  good  deal  more  in  the  same  style,  which  the 
company  understanding  but  imperfectly,  and  finding  rather 
dull,  her  audience  gradually  oozed  away.  Mrs.  Fisher  was 
one  of  the  first  to  rise. 

"  Had  Praxiteles  been  a  pianist,"  said  she,  "  he  would 
have  played  like  that,  at  once  refoined  and  chaste !  "  and 
having  done  what  this  virtuous  woman  considered  to  be 
her  duty,  she  "  took  the  stage,"  as  actors  say,  and  swept 
to  the  further  end  of  the  room,  Avith  an  air  that  said 
plainly,  "  Come,  we  have  had  enough  of  that  to  last  some 
time." 

Only  three  or  four  remained  near  the  piano.  "  Did  any 
one  sing  ?  "  it  was  asked.  Now,  I  am  fortunately  or  un- 
fortunately, as  it  may  happen  —  gifted  with  uncommonly 
sharp  ears.     The  reader  has  already  had  evidence  of  this, 


132  RITA : 

and  I  ■warn  him  that  he  will  constantly  find  me  overheanng 
what  was  never  intended  for  me. 

"  Ask  her  —  I  dare  say  she  does,"  I  heard  a  young  lady 
whisper  to  Captain  Borrage.  "  Who  knows  ?  Perhaps  she 
has  sung  at  one  of  those  cofes  in  the  Champs  Elysees  — 
decollettee,  you  know,  in  pink,  on  a  stage  —  I  should  n't  be 
surprised.  It  would  be  quite  in  character  with  so  inde- 
pendent a  young  lady.  Don't  you  see  her,  screaming 
'  Robert,  toi  que  j'aime '  to  an  enraptured  audience  ?  " 

Something  very  like  an  oath,  I  think,  broke  from  his 
lordship's  black  beard,  beliind  my  chair. 

"  Such  effronterie  in  a  girl  of  that  age,"  resumed  the  fair 
speaker.  When,  a  few  minutes  afterwards,  Captain  Borrage 
came  up,  and  asked  me  to  "  favor  the  company  "  —  he  was 
sure  I  sang  ;  I  replied,  very  quietly,  that  I  only  did  so  when 
I  was  paid. 

"  Brava ! "  growled  the  black  beard.  Then  suddenly 
turning  to  the  lady,  "  By-the-by,  Miss  Wright,  a  propos  of 
effrontery  —  I  heard  you  use  the  word,  I  think  —  (Wright 
grew  scarlet),  do  you  know  if  the  story  is  true  that  is  told 
all  over  Paris  of  an  English  girl  going  to  the  bal  masque 
the  other  night,  with  her  mamma,  and  making  an  appointment 
with  her  own  papa  in  the  foyer  "i  They  even  say  she  kept 
it,  and  enjoyed  the  old  gentleman's  consternation  when  she 
pulled  off  her  mask.  We  want  to  find  out  who  it  was,  and 
you,  as  a  great  authority  in  these  matters,  perhaps  can 
tell  us." 

No  one  who  Avatched  the  lady's  face  could  doubt  to  whom 
the  story  referred. 

"  I  am  obliged  to  you,"  she  said,  with  a  ghastly  smile, 
for  supposing  that  I  know  all  the  scandal  of  Paris. 

"  Scandal !  Heaven  forbid !  it  is  purely  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  an  historical  anecdote  characteristic  of  the  times  we 
live  in." 

*' '  Pon  my  soul,  you  're  too  bad,  Rawdon  "  flared  up  the 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  133 

Guardsman.  "  I  believe  you  invent  these  stories,  and  pre- 
tend you've  heard  them  —  I  really  do."  And  thus  the 
sword  went  on,  slashing  impotently  at  the  coronet,  while  I 
walked  to  a  distant  window,  out  of  reach  of  the  disputants. 
Rochford  came  up  soon  after,  but  no  allusion  was  made  on 
either  side  to  that  first  meeting  of  ours,  and  we  fell  into  a 
desultory  conversation,  of  which  I  only  remember  part. 

"  You  seem  surrounded  in  this  house  by  every  thing  that 
makes  life  pleasant.     I  can't  fancy  a  more  charming  home." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  I  would  n't  live  in  Paris  for  all  the 
world.  I  come  here  generally  every  winter,  for  a  month  or 
two,  to  see  my  uncle,  for  I  hate  Paris." 

"  It  is  hardly  civil,  do  you  know,  to  say  that,  as  I  live 
here.  It  is  plain  you  have  not  been  brought  up  in  Paris,  at 
all  events.  I  am  obliged  to  live  here,  and,  fortunately,  am 
contented." 

"  You  would  probably  find  a  quiet  English  life  very  flat 
after  it,  which  1,  on  the  contrary,  think  the  only  enviable 
existence.  Here,  leading  the  sort  of  life  they  do  in  society, 
people  have  no  time  for  thought.  The  perpetual  excitement 
of  the  wheel  going  round  prevents  people's  seeing  how  far 
they  are  on  the  great  high-road.  They  lose  sight  of  the  aim 
of  their  existence,  till  suddenly  the  wheel  stops,  and  they  are 
jerked  out.     Is  n't  it  so  ?  " 

"  Perhaps.  I  have  seen  very  little  of  the  life  you  are 
talking  of,  yet.  My  recollection  of  England  is  of  a  foggy- 
looking  house  in  Pall-mall,  with  spikes  all  round  it,  where 
my  grandfather  lived,  and  where  I  was  once  staying,  as  a 
child.  The  sun  never  shone  in.  I  used  to  stand  upon  a 
chair,  and  look  over  the  wire  blinds  and  through  the  very 
dirty  windows  of  the  dining-room.  That  is  all  I  know  of 
England.  Do  you  wonder  at  my  preferring  bright  and 
sunny  Paris  ?  Then,  as  to  the  people,  you  will  be  shocked, 
Mr.  Rochford,  but  the  manners  of  my  countrymen  and  wo- 
men seem  to  me  very  bad ;  often,  instead  of  courtesy  and 


134  eita:  an  autobiography. 

kindness,  arrogance,  impertinence,  flippancy.  For  instance  — 
but  do  you  agree  with  me  ?  or  are  you  disposed  to  defend 
even  your  country's  mannei's,  like  a  true  patriot  ?  " 

"  Certainly  I  am,"  said  he,  smiling.  "  You  are  describin<T 
the  manners  of  a  particular  set  —  the  fast  and  fashionable. 
Nothing  so  ■well-bred  as  an  English  lady  —  nothing  so  ill- 
bred  as  a  fashionable  English  woman.  You  must  not  con- 
found the  two.     Your  experience,  I  fear  —  " 

But  Lady  Greybrook  here  announced  that  it  was  time  to 
go.  She  had  a  dinner  engagement,  and  must  take  some 
"  repose  "  beforehand.  I  was  astonished,  for  it  was  difficult 
to  imagine  her  otherwise  than  restless  and  excited,  even  in 
bed.  However,  I  now  know  that  certain  terms  mean  very 
different  things  in  different  mouths,  and  "  repose,"  in  her 
ladyship's  case,  meant  milk  of  roses,  and  a  bath  of  amandine 
and  eau  de  Cologne. 


CHAPTER  XL 

This  is  not  a  fashionable  novel.  I  have  given  the  reader 
one  or  two  specimens  of  the  society  into  which  I  was  now 
introduced,  and  I  have  no  intention  of  detailing  for  him  all 
the  balls  and  parties  to  which  I  went  nightly.  An  extract 
or  two  from  my  journal,  linked  together  by  a  few  words, 
will  tell  the  story  of  weeks. 

Lady  Janet  did  not  call  on  my  mother  the  following  day, 
having  been  take  a  ill  the  same  night,  as  I  afterwards  learnt, 
and  confined  to  her  bed  for  a  fortnight.  She  was  so  exceed- 
ingly unattractive  to  me,  that  I  cannot  say  I  had  any  poig- 
nant regret  at  not  seeing  her  again,  only,  perhaps,  a  curiosity 
to  know  why  she  should  have  felt  sufficient  interest  in  a 
strano-er  to  write  that  mysterious  little  note,  and  offer  me 
her  friendship.  In  the  whirl  of  dissipation  into  which  I  was 
now  plunged  I  had  nearly  forgotten  the  old  lady,  when  one 
day,  on  my  return  from  driving  with  Lady  Greybrook,  I 
found  from  my  mother  that  Lady  Janet  had  called.  The 
visit,  apparently,  had  been  of  no  very  pleasant  nature,  judg- 
ing from  the  state  of  my  mothei-'s  nerves  that  evening,  and 
her  repeatedly  asserting  that  some  people  could  n't  put  them- 
selves into  other  people's  position,  and  that  it  was  all  very 
fine  talking,  but  how  was  it  to  be  helped  ?  with  other  re- 
marks of  a  similarly  tangible  nature.  Poor  dear  mother !  I 
guessed  at  once  what  had  been  the  subject  of  Lady  Janet's 
conversation,  and  almost  resented  the  interference.  For  I 
enjoyed  myself  exceedingly  well  in  the  life  I  led,  owing,  no 

(135) 


136  KITA : 

doubt,  to  the  fact  that  I  felt  an  increasing  interest  in  two 
persons  wiiom  I  was  in  the  habit  of  constantly  meeting. 

Lord  Rawdon  had  established  himself  as  a  constant, 
almost  daily,  visitor  at  our  house.  My  father  did  not 
encourage  his  intimacy  as  much  as  I  expected,  considering 
his  position  and  reputed  fortune,  but  my  mother  declared  he 
was  charming.  Let  othei's  call  him  Avhat  they  pleased  — 
bearish,  bitterly  sarcastic,  mad  —  for  her  he  was  only  wise 
and  witty  —  to  her  he  was  always  courteous  and  kind. 
And  Avhat  woman  could  withstand  tliis  ?  A  man  has  but  to 
make  himself  disagreeable  to  the  many  to  be  doubly  appre- 
ciated by  the  few  to  whom  he  is  civil.  And  how  amusing 
we  find  satire  when  the  satirist  makes  us  distinctly  feel  that 
under  no  circumstances  can  his  fangs  be  sharpened  upon 
ourselves !  Lord  Rawdon,  whose  manner  towards  me  had 
undergone  a  gradual  change  since  our  first  acquaintance, 
was  very  different  in  our  house  to  the  man  he  showed 
himself  for  the  world.  He  was  often  sarcastic ;  but  there 
were  moments  when  one  caught  a  glimpse  into  some  unex- 
pected abyss  of  tenderness  that  took  one  by  surprise.  This 
was  especially  the  case  when  alluding  to  his  own  mother 
once ;  and  I  could  not  help  fancying  that  some  indefinable 
association  with  her  was  the  cause  of  his  tender  deference  to 
my  mother.  Silent  he  was,  too,  and  gloomy  at  times  ;  but 
it  was  when  touching  on  serious  subjects  that  the  strange 
wildness  of  his  manner  startled  me  into  the  behef  that  there 
really  Avas  a  touch  of  insanity  about  him.  It  was  as  if  in 
that  one  chamber  of  the  brain  all  was  darkness  and  chaos. 

If  I  ever  asked  myself  what  my  feeling  towards  him  was, 
I  must  have  found  it  difficult  to  answer.  It  was  less  any 
one  sentiment  than  a  compound  of  many  anomalous  ones. 
He  interested  me.  That  very  unexpectedness  and  difl[iculty 
of  reconciling  the  various  sides  of  his  character  that  were 
constantly  turning  up,  stimulated  curiosity,  and  had  for  me 
a  considerable   charm.      My  vanity  was   pleased  that  he 


AN    AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  137 

should  prefer  my  society  to  that  of  the  many  handsome  and 
clever  women  who  smiled  on  him.  I  did  not  believe  such  a 
blase  man  of  the  world  could  fall  in  love  (as  I  understood 
the  tex-m)  ;  but  I  enjoyed  the  influence  which  I  began  to  see 
I  had  over  him.  It  Avas  like  mounting  a  wild  horse,  which  is 
only  tractable  under  the  light  hand  of  a  woman  ;  an  exciting 
amusement  enougli.  And  yet  it  might  be  dangerous,  too, 
for  his  was  a  passionate  nature,  difficult,  perhaps,  to  rein  in, 
after  a  certain  time.  I  pitied  him  sincerely,  for  I  felt  sure 
that  he  had  never  been  a  happy  man ;  but  I  had  no  respect 
for  him,  since  it  was  plain  he  had  none  for  himself 

Hubert  Rochford  I  saw  less  of,  though  he  asked  per- 
mission to  call  on  my  mother,  and  came.  She  did  not 
much  fancy  him.  Too  solemn  and  priggish  for  a  young 
man  —  no  doubt  he  would  make  a  very  good  clergyman  — 
for  her  part,  she  liked  something  a  little  more  lively.  But 
I  never  could  look  on  him  in  the  light  of  a  common  ac- 
quaintance. The  peculiar  circumstances  under  which  we 
first  met  must  always  have  prevented  that,  had  I  not  in- 
stinctively felt  that  he  took  a  deeper  interest  in  me  than 
word  or  look  ever  told ;  for  the  expression  of  those  eyes 
was  more  keen  and  searching  than  tender,  and  his  language 
was  always  singularly  guarded  —  nay,  even  cold,  at  times. 

It  almost  invariably  happened  that  he  found  Lord  Rawdon 
with  us  when  he  called,  and  even  my  mother,  who  was  not 
sharp-sighted,  remarked  that  a  cloud  passed  over  his  face 
when  such  was  the  case.  In  truth,  it  was  plain  how  antago- 
nistic these  two  men  were  in  all  their  habits  of  thought  and 
conduct.  If  Lord  Rawdon's  was  the  more  aggressive, 
Rochford's  was  not  a  less  deep-roofed  aversion.  The 
former  was  always  peculiarly  disagreeable  and  sarcastic 
when  Rochford  was  present ;  while  lie,  on  the  other  hand, 
generally  made  as  though  he  heard  him  not,  and  when 
absent,  avoided,  with  obvious  purpose,  all  mention  of  Lord 
Rawdon.     Tlic  orbits  of  these  gentlemen  were  not  the  same. 


138  RITA : 

When  they  came  dangerously  near  each  other,  I  was  con- 
stantly thinking  of  tlie  disastrous  result  should  two  planets, 
by  some  celestial  derangement  fall  foul  of  one  another ! 

The  following  extract  from  my  journal  is  dated  about 
three  weeks  after  Mr.  Griffiths'  dejeuner  : 

Poor  old  Lateward  is  laid  up  with  a  cold  —  not  seen  her 
for  two  or  three  days  —  the  schoolroom  seems  quite  lost 
without  her.  Lady  Greybrook  having  very  good-naturedly 
given  me  an  order  for  Marie  Dumont,  Avho  was  out  of 
employment  when  Miss  Lateward  called  on  her  last  week, 
I  determined  to  take  Betsy  with  me,  and  carry  the  order 
myself,  as  it  may  be  some  days  before  L.  is  able  to  go  out, 
and  poor  Marie  might  be  starving  in  the  mean  time.  I  was 
properly  punished  for  my  disobedience  of  orders  by  meeting 
there  the  very  person  of  all  others  I  would  most  have 
avoided  —  Mr.  Rochford !  It  did  not  occur  to  me  that  on 
his  return  to  Paris  this  year  he  would  probably  call  and 
inquire  after  the  poor  sempstress,  whom  he  was  so  kind  to 
last  winter;  which  it  seems  he  did  some  days  ago,  and 
procured  her  work  at  once.  He  was  any  thing  but  agree- 
ably surprised  at  seeing  me,  I  think ;  as  little  so  as  I  was 
at  meeting  him.  But  Marie  was  enchanted,  and  the  child 
ran  up  and  held  his  rosy  cheek  to  ray  face.  Rochford 
moved  away  to  the  window  while  I  explained  to  Marie 
what  the  work  was  I  had  brought  for  her.  I  Avould  not 
sit  down.  I  felt  anxious  to  be  gone  as  soon  as  possible, 
and  was  not  quite  comfortable,  to  say  the  truth,  with  that 
stern  and  silent  man  there  all  the  time. 

"Good-by!  I  mustn't  stay.  How  the  child  is  grown, 
Marie  !    Almost  big  enough  to  go  to  school,  is  n't  he  ?  " 

"  Yes,  mademoiselle  ;  and,  next  summer,  this  good  gentle- 
man has  generously  promised — " 

Rochford  turned  impatiently  round.  "  Mademoiselle  did 
not  come    here   to   listen  to  all  that,  Marie."     Then,  as  I 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  139 

prepared  to  leave  the  room,  he  added,  in  English,  "Miss 
Percival,  if  you  are  going,  allow  me  to  conduct  you  down 
stairs.  They  are  dark  and  slippery.  Have  you  been  here 
before?" 

"  Only  once." 

"  You  met  her,  I  think,  accidentally,  a  year  ago  ?  " 

"  I  did ;  and  was  the  indirect  means  of  saving  her  from 
starvation  —  through  you." 

"  Do  your  friends  approve  of  your  visiting  her  ?  " 

"  No  one  knows  of  my  coming  to-day.  Why  do  you  ask  ? 
Is  there  any  crime  in  visiting  a  poor  woman  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid,  in  the  opinion  of  the  world  in  which  you 
live,  '  c'est  plus  qu'um  crime  —  c'est  une  faute,'  for  a  young 
lady  to  be  seen  wandering  up  and  down  dai-k  alleys  like 
these.  You  have  learned  enough  of  society  by  this  time, 
Miss  Percival,  to  know  that  it  is  not  very  good-natured." 

I  felt  myself  coloring  as  I  replied,  "  Thank  you  for  re- 
minding me  of  it  particularly  at  this  moment.  We  are  in 
the  street,  Mr.  Rochford,  and  my  road  lies  this  way.  Good 
morning." 

I  bowed  and  left  him.  I  would  not  shake  hands,  for  I 
was  indignant  Avith  what  I  thought  at  the  moment  was  his 
impertinent  interference  ;  and  yet  I  rather  like  him  for  it, 
too,  now  I  come  to  be  cool  over  it.  He  is  very  unlike  all 
the  other  men  I  meet ;  certainly  I  always  feel  the  most 
perfect  confidence  that  he  is  in  earnest,  that  he  does  not 
talk  for  the  sake  of  talking,  but  that  what  he  says  he  really 
means.  He  makes  no  fine  speeches  —  there  is  none  of  the 
silent  and  subtle  flattery  of  a  certain  person  in  his  inter- 
course with  me.  He  is  stern  and  uncompromising.  I 
know  he  docs  not  approve  of  me  very  often,  and  I  enjoy 
defending  the  society  and  life  here  against  his  severe  stric- 
tures. I  even  pretend  to  like  it  all  much  better  than  I 
really  do,  for  I  would  not  have  him  suppose  — 

Interrupted  by  a  long  visit  from  that  tiresome  old  Mai-- 


140  KiTA : 

quis.  My  mother  sent  for  me,  so  I  was  obliged  to  go; 
otherwise  I  always  avoid  him  when  I  can.  His  conversa- 
tion is  perfectly  insupportable  to  me,  and  I  was  so  glad  when 
Charles  Murray  came  in  and  made  a  diversion  in  my  favor. 
The  latter  often  drops  in  now  of  an  evening  for  an  hour, 
though  I  do  not  see  much  of  him,  as  I  am  generally  dressing 
to  go  out ;  but  Rose  plays  to  him  on  the  piano,  and  he  is 
easily  amused.     A  good-natured  fellow. 

(Two  days  afterwards  is  the  following  entry :) 

Last  evening  we  had  a  small  dinner  at  Lady  Greybrook's. 
Mr.  Rochfoi'd  sat  next  to  me.     I  said  to  him : 

"  How  is  it  that  you  think  so  much  about  the  conventions 
of  society,  you  who  talk  of  the  purposeless  existence  of  the 
fashionable  world,  etc.  ?  " 

"  I  think  the  world's  opinion,  as  regards  women  especially, 
is  entitled  to  respect.  A  thhig  may  be  harmless  in  itself, 
Miss  Percival,  nay,  even  right,  and  yet  —  " 

"  No,  no,  no,  Mr.  Rochford  !  There  is  but  one  right  and 
one  wrong.  Don't  attempt  to  make  me  think  otherwise. 
Understand  me :  I  generally  do  the  latter,  but  it  is  because 
I  want  moral  courage,  not  because  I  succeed  in  persuading 
myself  it  is  better  not  to  do  the  right  thing — in  short,  to 
leave  well  alone  !  " 

He  smiled.  "  And  yet,  surely,  you  must  see  that  a  virtue 
proper  for  one,  is  not,  of  necessity,  proper  for  all." 

"  As,  for  instance,  visiting  the  poor  is  not  a  projier  virtue 
for  a  town  young  lady,  though  proper  enough  for  a  country 
young  lady,  with  a  basket  on  her  arm,  and  a  pair  of  flattens? 
Oh,  nonsense,  J\L'.  Rochford !  it  is  all  a  matter  of  conven- 
tionality." 

"I  should  rather  say  a  matter  of  judgment." 

"  Is  not  conscience  judgment  ?  If  one  feels  sure  that 
what  one  does  is  right,  what  does  it  signify  what  all  the 
world  says  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  find  that  it  signifies,  sometimes,  a 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  141 

great  deal  —  but  this  leads  to  a  whole  set  of  questions  rather 
difficult  to  discuss  with  you.  The  Roman  doctrine  of  expe- 
diency is  so  far  wise,  inasmuch  as  it  admits  of  the  judgment's 
being  exercised  in  matters  of  principle.  You  look  surprised. 
It  is  not  true,  as  you  said  just  now,  that  there  is  only  one 
right  and  one  wrong.  There  are  often  conflicting  duties. 
What  your  judgment  then  points  to  as  the  most  expedient 
thing  becomes  the  rightest." 

"  And  what  if  it  be  opposed  to  the  opinion  of  those  whom 
you  ought  to  respect  and  obey  ?  " 

"If  it  BE  a  matter  of  judgment  —  not  impulse  —  act 
on  it." 

"  And  I  act  entirely  on  impulse,  I  'm  afraid." 

"  Your  impulses,  I  feel  sure,  are  always  good  and  woman- 
ly," said  Rochford,  with  unusual  warmth  ;  "  but  do  not  trust 
them  too  far,  or  let  them  carry  you  away.  Life  is  not  the 
easy  thing  —  the  long  summer's  day  —  some  people  try  and 
make  themselves  believe.  I  speak  to  you.  Miss  Percival,  as 
young  men  do  not  generally  speak ;  but  I  have  been  pecul- 
iarly brought  up  —  taught  to  have  a  stern  reprobation  for 
things  I  here  see  smiled  over.  I  cannot  shape  my 
speech  and  manners  to  suit  this  society,  and  I  cannot  talk 
foolish  nonsense  to  you.  I  feel  you  are  worth  something 
better  than  that.  Surely,  this  life  you  are  leading,  the 
people  with  whom  you  are  thrown,  are  not  congenial  to 
you  ?  " 

"  Very  often  not.  But  as  Shakespeare  says,  '  "Wliat  is 
without  a  remedy  should  be  without  regard.'  The  position 
is  not  of  my  own  seeking.  I  only  make  the  best  of  what  I 
can't  help." 

"  There  are  positions  so  serious,  so  disastrous  in  their  results 
on  our  whole  after-life,  that  any  thing  is  better  than  submit- 
ting to  them." 

"  It  is  easy  to  say  that,  Mr.  Rochford,"  I  replied,  some- 
what bitterly.     "  You  do  not  know  all  the  difficulties  of  oppo- 


142  RITA : 

sition  in  such  a  case.  Besides  which,  I  think  you  are  very 
prejudiced  against  Lady  Greybrook.  There  are  things  I 
don't  approve  of  in  her,  and  particularly  in  the  people  •who 
surround  her,  but  she  is  very  good-natured  —  even  kind  and 
generous  to  those  who  are  in  distress." 

"  Tanto  buono  che  non  val  niente,"  muttered  Rochford, 
with  a  sarcastic  expression,  very  foreign  to  his  face,  as  we 
rose  from  table.  "  It  is  an  old  Italian  proverb,  full  of  mean- 
ing." 

"  Why  do  you  come  here,  Mr.  Rochford,  if  it  is  only  to 
find  fault  with  everybody  and  every  thing  ?  " 

He  looked  at  me  for  a  moment ;  then  replied,  carelessly, 

"  I  come  to  study  character." 

"  And,  apparently,  what  you  find  is  not  to  your  liking." 

The  old  Marquis  came  up  just  then,  and  there  was  an  end 
of  all  conversation,  of  course.  A  sense  of  sleep  always  steals 
over  me  when  he  approaches.  I  feel,  "  If  I  were  as  tedious 
as  a  king,  I  could  find  in  my  heart  to  bestow  it  all  upon 
him ; "  and  the  worst  of  it  is.  Lady  Greybrook  persists  in 
telling  me  I  ought  to  consider  myself  particularly  honored, 
and  that  it  is  evident  the  old  gentleman  is  cpris.  I  hope 
she  does  not  talk  to  any  one  else  in  this  sort  of  way ;  but  I 
observed  Madame  Galoffska  last  night  directing  Lord  Raw- 
don's  attention  to  where  the  Marquis  sat  brooding  over  me. 
I  am  sure  if  woman  ever  showed  her  dislike,  I  make  my 
sentiments  evident  enough.  A  j^i'opos  of  Madame  G.,  I 
don't  think  she  likes  me.  Why?  I  have  never  done  her 
any  harm  that  I  know  of.  Rawdon,  and  some  others,  were 
looking  over  a  book  of  sketches  which  Lady  Greybrook  had 
asked  me  to  bring  (very  much  against  my  wish),  when  Mad- 
ame G.  walked  up.  Rawdon  handed  the  book  to  her,  with 
some  extravagant  words  of  praise.  I  heard  them,  though  I 
was  quite  at  the  other  end  of  the  room  ;  and  I  also  heard  the 
rejoinder,  accompanied  by  the  most  malignant  glance,  as  she 
tossed  the  book  aside : 


AN   AUTOBIOGRArHY.  '  143 

"All?  qa  —  die  dessine  bien?  Je  lui  ferai  fair  le  por- 
trait de  m-m-mon  chien  ! " 

Late'  iu  tlie  evening,  when  nearly  every  one  was  gone 
(there  was  a  small  evening  party),  I  saw  Mr.  Rochford  sit 
down  with  my  sketches,  and  begin  looking  over  them  alone. 
There  was  one  of  a  window  in  the  Hotel  Cluny,  which  he 
examined  for  some  time ;  at  last,  I  walked  up  to  the  table 
and  said, 

"  What  attraction  is  there  in  that  sketch,  Mr.  Rochford  ? 
You  have  been  looking  at  it  for  five  minutes,  and  it  is  very 
ill  done." 

"  It  might  be  better,"  he  answered,  quietly.  "  It  is  not, 
architecturally,  very  correct :  but  yet  correct  enough  for  my 
purpose.     Do  you  know  if  there  is  any  print  of  this  ?  " 

"  I  dare  say  thei'e  is  ;  but  what  is  your  purpose  ?  " 

"  I  am  building  a  school-house  at  home,  and  want  a  win- 
dow of  this  sort.  I  was  struck  with  this  one  the  other  day 
when  I  was  at  the  Hotel  Cluny ;  but,  unfortunately,  I  am  no 
draughtsman.  I  can  be  critical,  you  see,  like  Mrs.  Oglevie 
Fisher,  but  I  can  do  nothing  myself." 

"  I  will  copy  the  sketch  for  you,  if  you  like  it." 

(A  fortnight  later,  the  following  entry :) 

My  father  came  into  my  room  most  unexpectedly  this 
morning. 

"I  have  come  to  speak  to  you,  Rita,  about  that  fellow 
Rawdon.  It  is  perfectly  absurd  his  coming  here  in  the  way 
he  does,  and  you  encourage  him.  Every  one  knows  that  he 
means  nothing  —  he  is  not  a  marrying  man  ;  and  if  he  was, 
I  am  told  he  is  so  deucedly  in  debt,  that  —  " 

"  Make  your  mind  perfectly  easy,  father.  Lord  Rawdon 
has  not  tlie  least  intention  of  asking  me ;  and  I  have  n't  the 
least  intention  of  accepting  him,  if  he  did." 

"  It  is  all  very  fine  talking  in  that  way,  but  it  keeps  off 
other  men.  I  know  that  the  Marquis  d'Ofort  is  only  waiting 
for  the  least  encouragement  to  come  forward." 


144:  RITA:    AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

"  Then  he  will  have  to  wait  long  enough." 

"  Your  head  has  been  turned  by  success,  you  foolish  girl. 
You  Avon't  have  many  such  offei's,  and  marry  you  must  be- 
fore long,  that 's  all.  Do  you  think  that  puritanical  fellow, 
Rochtbrd,  means  any  thing  ?  I  hear  he  has  a  tolerable  rent- 
roll,  and  Lady  Greybrook  says  she  encourages  him,  as  a  pis- 
allerJ' 

"  Perhaps  you  Avould  wish  me  to  ask  him  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  certain  I  sha'  n't  do  so  myself.  He  is  certainly 
behaving  very  badly,  if  he  does  n't  intend  to  propose." 

"  You  are  not  in  earnest,  father.  You  could  not  think 
seriously  of  doing  such  a  thing.  I  should  never  be  able  to 
speak  to  Mr.  Rochford  again.  His  conduct  towards  me  has 
always  been  studiously  guarded." 

"  Has  he  never  said  any  tiling  that  would  lead  you  to  sup- 
pose —  " 

"  Never !  He  has  never  said  any  thing  that  a  true  and 
honorable  Englishman  might  not  say  to  any  girl  in  whom  he 
felt  some  interest,  without  meaning  —  " 

"  Sentimental  stuff !  "  said  my  father,  turning  on  his  heel. 
"  This  comes  from  Lady  Dacre,  I  suppose,  this  sort  of  twad- 
dle about  '  true  and  honorable  Englishmen.'  I  know  the 
style  of  thing." 

"  So  does  she,"  I  answered,  quietly  enough. 

"Very  well,"  said  he,  getting  very  red.  "You  under- 
stand, honorable  or  not,  the  first  eligible  offer  you  have,  by 
G — d,  you  shall  accept  it  I  " 


CHAPTER    XII. 

In  spite  of  my  defence  of  Lady  Greybrook,  as  recorded  in 
the  last  chaj)ter,  I  am  afraid  I  must  confess  that  she  did  not 
improve  on  increasing  intimacy.  Little  by  little  I  began  to 
see  that  all  the  brilliancy  was  false  lacquer  —  the  good- 
nature flavored  by  a  far-sighted  prudence  based  upon  an 
adage  touching  those  who  dwell  in  glass  houses.  She  seldom 
said  an  ill-natured  thing,  unless  it  would  have  been  at  the 
sacrifice  of  a  witty  one,  and  she  often  did  what  was  kind, 
when  it  did  not  entail  any  personal  inconvenience.  Her 
money  she  would  give  away  right  and  left ;  but  that  is  what 
certain  natures  find  it  easiest  to  be  generous  of.  Her  heart 
was  too  saturated  with  worldliness  to  be  able  to  expend 
much  sympathy  or  real  solicitude  on  objects  that  did  not 
touch  her  personally  in  some  way.  Her  craving  for  excite- 
ment was  a  perfect  malady ;  I  often  thought  she  dreaded  to 
be  left  alone  —  that  the  secret  monitor  whose  voice  is  heard 
in  the  still-night  season,  made  himself  heard  even  to  her 
sometimes,  poor,  restless,  uneasy  woman !  Whatever  she 
once  had  been,  this  the  world  had  now  left  her.  Durins  all 
the  hours  I  sat  beside  her  in  that  green  chariot,  day  after 
day,  and  night  after  night,  we  never  got  nearer  to  each 
other.  But  I  had  the  advantage  —  if  advantage  it  was  — 
of  knowing  gradually  every  corner  of  her  character ;  for, 
indeed,  the  veil  was  transparent  enough ;  while  "  she  never 
could  make  me  out  —  such  an  odd  compound  "  (as  I  heard 
her  once  say)  "of  effrontery  and  shyness,  cleverness  and 

10  (l^'M 


14G  RITA: 

stupidity,  vanity  and  want  of  common  womanly  coquetry,  as 
that  girl  is,  I  never  met." 

The  Marquis  d'Ofort  now  constantly  dined  at  Lady  Grey- 
brook's,  and  I  was  lost  in  astonishment  at  her  capacity  for 
making  herself  agreeable  to  that  old  bore,  until  I  observed 
the  dexterity  with  which  she  always  managed  to  collect  a 
small  auditory  of  men  round  her,  before  she  began  to  be 
brilliant,  ostensibly  for  the  Marquis's  sole  edification.  Truth 
compels  me  to  add,  that  sometimes,  when  the  spirits  of  these 
Httle  coteries  run  away  Avith  them,  the  bounds  of  decorum 
were  not  very  rigidly  regarded  in  their  speech,  and  the 
mirth  of  the  old  marquis  on  these  occasions  always  rose  ex- 
ceedingly. A  number  of  equivocal  jokes  and  mots  a  double 
entente  used  to  pass  between  her  ladyship  and  some  of  the 
Frenchmen  who  were  in  the  habit  of  coming  often  to  her 
house,  the  point  of  which  I  sometimes  did  not,  and  always 
appeared  not,  to  understand  the  least  in  the  world. 

I  received  a  letter  from  my  aunt  about  this  time  —  the 
last  one,  alas  !  that  I  was  ever  to  receive  from  her  —  which 
opened  my  eyes  still  more  to  the  nature  of  Lady  Greybrook's 
character.  She  wrote  to  my  mother,  and  also,  I  am  in- 
clined to  think,  to  my  father,  imploring  them  not  to  allow 
me  to  be  the  constant  companion  of  a  person  whose  reputa- 
tion was  so  entirely  ruined.  She  offered  to  take  the  care 
and  responsibility  of  me  on  her  return  to  England,  though 
she  strongly  disapproved  of  such  a  separation  from  home 
ties.  Any  thing,  however,  she  said,  was  better  than  my 
being  sacrificed  in  this  cruel  way.  To  me  she  pointed  out 
some  of  the  dangers  of  my  position,  and  entreated  me  not 
to  be  carried  away  by  the  fascinations  of  the  hfe  I  was  lead- 
ing. Of  Lady  Greybrook  she  spoke  pityingly,  but  with  un- 
compromising truth.  She  besought  me,  by  the  love  I  bore 
her,  to  see  as  httle  of  that  lady  as  possible ;  to  resist  her 
influence  in  every  possil)le  way,  and,  above  all,  as  regarded 
any  marriage  in  which  my  heart  was  not  concerned. 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  147 

It  was  a  curious  confirmation  of  my  aunt's  far-seeing  Avis- 
dom,  when,  as  we  drove  along  to  a  ball  that  same  evening, 
Lady  Greybrook  urged  on  me  more  vehemently  than  ever 
the  expediency  of  encouraging  the  Marquis  d'Ofort's  suit. 

"  Never  mind,  my  dear ;  though  he  is  dull,  you  may  de- 
pend on  it  a  man  of  that  sort  makes  the  best  husband.  My 
experience  has  taught  me  so."  (A  sigh.)  "  Clever  men 
are  only  fit  to  marry  fools.  They  've  no  idea  of  giving  us 
the  rein.  Now,  the  woman  d'Ofort  marries  Avill  make  him 
do  just  what  she  likes  —  particularly  if  she  is  young.  You 
had  much  better  try  and  think  of  him,  instead  of  that  sad, 
wild  fellow,  Eawdon.  He  will  only  get  you  talked  about. 
Eemember,  /wash  my  hands  of  all  responsibility  as  regards 
him.  Besides,  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  the  state  of  your 
father's  affairs,  and  that  his  only  hope  is  in  your  making  a 
brilliant  marriage  to  extricate  him  from  his  difficulties.  He 
will  immediately  borrow  a  thousand  or  two  from  his  son-in- 
law  ;  and  old  d'Ofort  fulfils  all  the  requisite  conditions  for 
that  post,  being  a  good-tempered  old  goose,  with  one  of  the 
largest  fortunes  in  France." 

I  was  silent,  feeling  less  disposed  than  ever  to  discuss 
these  matters  with  my  companion,  and  after  a  time  she  con- 
tinued : 

"  I  knew,  my  dear,  you  were  ill-off";  but  I  had  no  idea, 
until  that  little  discovery  about  your  picture,  of  the  state 
your  family  affairs  were  in.  Shockingly  reduced,  indeed,  to 
come  to  that !  Fortunately,  you  have  a  manner  that  carried 
it  off" —  tliat  unpleasant  scene,  I  mean  —  and  Griffiths,  and 
that  old  cat,  Lady  Janet,  and  other  people,  chose  to  look  at 
it  in  a  very  fine  light ;  but,  as  I  told  you  afterwards,  it  made 
me  horribly  nervous,  and  I  should  n't  wish  you  to  repeat  the 
little  eccentricity  while  you  are  going  out  with  me.  If  you 
want  any  money,  you  know  you  can  go  to  Eugenie,  my 
maid,  Avho  keeps  my  purse,  and  I  dare  say,  if  it  is  not  a 
large  sum,  she  will  give  it  you." 


148  RITA: 

I  thanked  Lady  Greybrook  for  her  kind  offer,  whire  I 
mentally  wondered  by  what  process  her  feelings  of  delicacy 
had  become  sufficiently  blunted  to  make  it  in  such  terms. 

"  My  dear,  you  haven't  the  position  that  is  required  to  do 
those  things.  It  does  very  well  in  a  certain  rank  of  life. 
"We  all  know  that  Lady  Adelaide  Wilder  sold  oranges  in  the 
street  for  a  bet,  and  the  Duchesse  de  Cazes  went  on  the 
boards  of  the  Opera  in  the  masquerade  scene  in  Gustavus  ; 
but  that,  you  see,  is  quite  a  different  thing." 

"  Quite,"  I  repeated,  too  much  amused  to  be  indignant. 

"  For  people  whose  position  is  perfectly  well  assured  in 
society  can  do  any  thing  —  absolutely  any  thing  —  short  of 
running  away  from  their  husbands." 

"  Do  you  know  I  am  afraid,  if  I  were  married  to  Marquis 
d'Ofort,  that  is  exactly  what  I  should  do  ?  " 

"  Don't  talk  such  nonsense  !  Well,  at  all  events,  you  will 
have  to  make  haste  and  do  something,  my  dear;  for,  be- 
tween you  and  me,  I  think  affairs  are  getting  desperate  with 
your  father.  He  has  been  borrowing  largely,  I  hear,  from 
Ismael,  besides  other  entanglements,  perhaps,  even  worse  ; 
and  I  shall  be  going  away  in  a  few  Aveeks  now,  for  the  sea- 
son will  be  over,  —  so  you  have  really  no  time  to  lose." 

In  spite  of  all  the  sickening  apprehensions  and  anxieties 
that  crowded  on  me,  I  could  hardly  help  laughing  at  her 
ladyship's  breathless  injunctions  to  marry,  and  general  view 
of  that  institution  ;  but  we  drove  under  the  porte  cochere  of 
the  Embassy  just  then,  and  all  further  conversation  was 
stopped. 

I  was  out  of  spirits.  The  ball  seemed  to  me  almost  as 
dull  and  wearisome  as  that  court-ball  in  the  days  of  my  child- 
hood ;  and  I  wondered  how  people  could  find  any  amuse- 
ment in  such  a  crowd  and  heat,  forgetting  how  extremely 
well  I  had  amused  myself  in  several  such  scenes.  I  sat 
down,  and  said  it  was  too  hot  to  dance.  My  thoughts 
reverted  to  my  aunt's  letter,  and  I  thought  if  she  could  but 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  149 

see  me  now !  It  was  an  unexpected  pleasure  wlien  Mr. 
Rocliford  came  up  and  shook  bands  with  me.  He  seldom 
went  to  these  large  entertainments  ;  I  had  not  seen  him  for 
two  days.     What  brought  him  here  to-night  ? 

"  You  rarely  honor  balls  with  your  company,  Mr.  Roch- 
ford.  I  wonder  a  philanthropist  like  yourself  does  not  come 
and  see  people  enjoy  themselves." 

"  When  people  really  enjoy  themselves,  I  like  to  see 
them,"  he  replied,  smiling  ;  "  but  in  ball-rooms  the  number 
is  small.  Look  round  :  do  you  see  many  happy  faces  ?  I 
confess  I  can't.  Vanity — jealousy  —  the  mania  for  'get- 
ting on,'  —  I  see  all  this,  and  it  makes  me  rather  melancholy. 
If  you  ask  why  more  here  than  in  any  other  congregation 
of  human  beings,  it  is  that  women's  weaknesses  come  out 
stronger  here  than  anywhere.  A  ball-room  belle  is  not  my 
leau-ideal  —  her  head  completely  turned  for  a  time,  until 
she  is  deserted  for  something  new." 

"  Rather  rude,"  I  thought.  "  He  fancies  I  come  under 
the  deserted  class,  because  I  am  not  dancing,  and  look 
unhappy,  as  I  feel,  indeed!"  His  Serene  Highness  the 
Prince  of  Pultowa  approached  just  then,  brought  his  heels 
sharply  together  with  a  click,  and  requested  the  honor,  etc. 

I  rejrretted  that  I  felt  too  tired  to  dance. 

"  I  have  a  note  for  you.  Miss  Percival,"  said  Rochford, 
drawing  from  his  pocket  a  little  three-cornered  billet.  "  I 
was  dining  with  Lady  Janet  Oglevie  this  evening,  and  as  I 
knew  I  should  meet  you  here,  she  begged  me  to  give  you 
this." 

"  Oh !  Lady  Janet  ?  I  have  not  seen  her  since  that  morn- 
ing she  made  my  acquaintance  at  Mr.  Griffiths'.  She 
called  on  my  mother  a  short  time  ago,  but  I  was  out ;  and  I 
am  ashamed  to  say  I  have  never  been  to  see  her." 

The  note,  written  in  a  clear  crabbed  hand,  ran  thus : 

"  Will  Miss  Percival  drink  tea  with  Lady  Janet  Oglevie 
to-morrow  evening  ?     She  will  meet  the  Rev.  Mr.  Kennedy, 


150  RiXA : 

a  friend  of  her  aunt's"  (it  lifid  been  "your,"  and  was 
scratched  through),  "  and  one  or  two  more  ;  but  there  is  no 
party.  Miss  Percival  will  please  to  remember  that.  Mrs. 
Kennedy  would  call  for  her  at  eight  o'clock,  and  set  her 
home  at  night." 

And  httle  as  this  invitation  sounds  tempting  I  was  anx- 
ious to  accept  it.  But  it  was  difficult,  for  I  was  to  dine  out 
with  Lady  Greybrook,  at  the  rich  Mr.  P.'s,  and  it  would  be 
nearly  eight  o'clock  before  Ave  sat  down  to  dinner.  I 
reflected,  however,  that,  according  to  Paris  fashion,  the 
party  would,  probably,  disperse  very  early.  I  turned  to 
Lady  Greybrook,  and  explained  the  case,  saying  that  I 
wished  very  much  to  go  to  Lady  Janet's  if  possible. 

"I'd  advise  you  not.  You'll  be  bored  to  death  ;  but  if 
you  insist  on  it,  I  will  drop  you  there  on  my  way  to  Madame 
Galoffska's,  where,  by-the-by,  you  are  not  invited  —  so  it 
will  do  very  well.  When  I  said  to  her  I  should  bring  you, 
she  said  she  was  sorry  that  her  rooms  were  too  full.  Odd, 
ain't  it?" 

As  Rochford  offered  to  take  any  message  to  Lady  Janet, 
I  begged  him  to  say,  that  though  I  could  not  come  at  the 
hour  she  named,  I  hoped  to  do  so  later. 

"  Do  you  know  her  well  ?  She  is  a  very  singular  per- 
son ;  certainly  rather  terrific." 

"  She  is  excellent,  for  all  that.  There  is  no  one  for 
whom  I  have  so  great  a  respect  in  Paris." 

The  observation  was  a  simple  one.  What  was  there  in 
the  manner  with  which  it  was  said  that  irritated  me  ? 

"  For  so  very  excellent  a  person,  apparently  she  can  be 
very  bitter.  When  people  grow  old  and  ugly,  and  have 
lost  their  taste  for  the  pomps  and  vanities  of  the  world,  it 
seems  to  me  that  just  the  one  temptation  they  should  most 
guard  against  is  that  of  the  tongue." 

He  appeared  annoyed.  "  You  are  mistaken  if  you  sup- 
pose  she  generally  troubles   herself  about   her  neighbors' 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  151 

concerns.  She  is  no  gossip  ;  but  her  shrewd  judgment,  her 
hopesty,  and  strong  good  sense  make  her  a  valuable  friend 
to  any  one  —  a  friend  not  lightly  to  be  rejected  among  the 
pitfalls  of  Paris  society." 

I  looked  up  suddenly  into  his  face.  This  too,  was  a 
simple  observation,  like  the  last,  but  it  produced  a  different 
effect  on  me.  A  thought  flashed  like  lightning  through  my 
mind,  bringing  both  pleasure  and  excited  curiosity  with  it. 
I  began  tearing  up  Lady  Janet's  note  into  little  bits. 

"  Have  you  known  her  long,  that  you  speak  of  her  in  such 
terms  ?  " 

"  Ever  since  I  was  a  boy.  She  is  my  mother's  oldest 
friend." 

"  Really !  Ah,  how  stupid  of  me !  I  have  torn  up  her 
note,  and  I  actually  don't  know  where  she  lives !  "Would 
you  write  down  the  address  for  me  ?  " 

He  tore  a  leaf  out  of  his  pocket-book  and  wrote  down 
street  and  number. 

That  night,  as  soon  as  I  was  at  home  and  alone,  I  ran  to 
my  desk  and  took  from  it  a  small  piece  of  crumpled  paper, 
on  which  some  writing  in  pencil  was  now  almost  effaced.  • 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  comparing  it  with  the  piece  I  held  in  my 
hand,  "  it  is  a  leaf  from  the  same  book,  and  —  there  is  no 
doubt  about  it  —  it  is  the  same  handwriting ! " 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

I  THOUGHT  the  dinner  at  Mr.  P.'s  would  never  be  over,  but 
I  was  in  a  state  of  happy  excitement,  so  that  not  even  the 
duhiess  of  this  great  entertainment  was  able  to  depress  me. 
I  did  not  ask  myself  why  this  was.  I  did  not  confess  how 
anxiously  I  looked  forward  now  to  the  evening  at  Lady 
Janet's,  or  how  differently  I  regarded  her  since  I  had  dis- 
covered —  or  thought  I  had  discovered  —  what  was  the 
secret  spring  of  her  conduct  towards  me. 

A  gentleman  with  a  very  red  face  surrounded  by  a  great 
deal  of  white,  sat  next  me  at  dinner.  His  conversation  was 
not  of  a  nature  to  distract  my  thoughts  from  the  subject 
which  engrossed  them.  Indeed,  little  was  talked  of  at  table 
but  the  dishes  as  they  succeeded  each  other,  with  an  occa- 
sional anecdote  about  the  number  of  years  this  Madeira  had 
been  in  bottle  and  the  vintage  of  that  claret.  With  the 
second  course,  there  was  a  slight  diversion  in  favor  of 
politics,  and  our  host  became  eloquent  about  bullion  and  the 
Stock  exchange.  Lady  Greybrook  was  seated  next  to  a 
capacious  Italian  nobleman  on  the  other  side  of  the  table, 
and,  judging  from  their  merriment,  I  am  inclined  to  think 
their  talk  was  not  of  the  Stock  exchange. 

At  last  it  was  over,  and  the  same  red  face  (a  good  deal  red- 
der now)  handed  me  back  to  the  salon,  where  we  ladies  sat 
upon  blue  satin  sofas  for  the  space  of  twenty  minutes,  while 
the  men  stood  and  sipped  their  coffee  round  us  ;  then,  one  by 
one,  the  latter  slunk  out  of  the  room  to  their  cigars,  and  to 

(152) 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  153 

their  opera-stalls  or  elsewhere,  as  the  custom  is  at  these 
sociable  entertainments.  Lady  Gi-eybrook,  following  their 
example  (but  with  more  of  ceremony),  then  rose  and  took 
her  leave. 

"  Now,  my  dear,  where  is  it  I  am  to  drop  you  ?  "  said  she, 
as  we  got  into  the  carriage. 

"Rue   de    P ,  Number  —  let  me  see,  I  think  it  is 

Number  Five,"  said  I  to  the  chasseur,  and  away  we  rolled. 

"  Past  ten  o'clock ! "  said  Lady  Greybrook,  striking  her 
repeater,  as  we  drove  along,  "  you  '11  be  late  for  the  tartines 
and  the  distribution  of  tracts.  I  am  afraid  you  won't  get 
any  of  the  '  Crumbs  of  Comfort  for  Chickens  in  Distress.' 
Fortunately  you  have  had  a  good  dinner  to  support  you 
under  the  disappointment.  How  capital  that  salade  d' ananas 
au  vin  de  Ghani'pagne  was,  was  n't  it  ?  " 

The  carriage  drew  up  before  a  house  where  two  or  three 
other  carriages  were  standing. 

"  Why,  positively  the  old  lady  has  a  large  party  ! "  cried 
her  Ladyship,  as  tbe  chasseur  fired  open  the  door  and  shot 
down  the  steps.  "  There,  make  haste,  my  dear,  and  don't 
keep  me  —  I  can't  stay  in  the  cold.  Fran9ois  can  just  go 
up-stairs  with  you,  but  I  really  can't  wait ;  there  —  good 
night." 

"  Quel  etage  ? "  roared  he  of  the  green  plume,  through 
the  porter's  glass  door. 

"  Premier,"  growled  a  voice ;  and  up  the  stairs  I  ran  after 
the  chasseur,  who  pulled  a  bell  on  the  first  floor. 

"  Merci  —  cela  suffit  —  n'attendez  pas,"  said  I,  thinking 
of  Lady  Greybrook  shivering  in  her  carriage ;  and  down- 
wards disappeared  the  green  plumes  four  steps  at  a  time. 

The  door  was  opened  by  a  tiger. 

I  was  rather  surprised,  but  a  grave-looking  man  in  black 
(probably  Lady  Janet's  Scotch  butler)  came  forward  and 
silently  took  my  cloak.  We  passed  through  an  ante-room, 
where,  to  my   amazement,  were  several   hats   and  canes. 


154  bita: 

The  grave  man  did  not  ask  me  my  name,  but  threw  open 
the  battants  at  the  fuilher  end  of  this  apartment. 

I  stepped  into  a  large  and  briUiantly  lighted  drawing- 
room,  and  the  doors  closed  behind  me.  Never,  as  long  as  I 
live,  shall  I  forget  my  bewilderment,  —  bewilderment  grow- 
ing into  terror  every  moment,  as  I  stood  and  looked  round 
me  ;  hesitating  whether  to  advance,  and  with  retreat  cut  off. 

Where  was  I  ?  Where  was  Lady  Janet  ?  Who  were  all 
these  people  lying  about  on  sofas  and  divans,  playing  at 
cards  ;  smoking,  laughing  loudly,  and  rattling  small  boxes 
on  a  green-baize  table  ?  Men  and  women,  but  no  face  I 
had  ever  seen  before  ! 

Yes,  one  !  That  lady  in  white  with  camelias  in  her  hair,  I 
knew  full  well,  from  seeing  her  drive  daily  in  the  Champs 
Elysees  :  I  used  to  recognize  the  carriage  from  the  camelias 
in  her  horses'  heads,  and  I  had  been  told,  alas  !  that  she  had 
a  melancholy  notoriety.  She  was  half-sitting,  half-lying  on 
a  sofa,  upon  the  back  of  which  a  young  man  leaned,  and 
passed  his  hand  familiarly  over  the  smooth  bandeaux  of  her 
hair.  A  handsome,  gi'easy -looking  woman  stood,  smoking  a 
cigarette,  near  the  fire.  Another  was  seated  before  a  piano, 
and  lightly  passed  the  fingers  of  one  hand  over  the  keys. 

My  eyes  rapidly  seized  every  detail  of  that  strange  scene 
in  the  few  seconds,  which  seemed  indeed  years,  that  I  stood 
transfixed  there,  at  the  door.  Suddenly  I  became  conscious 
that  my  appearance  had  created  scarcely  less  sensation  in 
the  assembly  itself.     All  eyes  were  turned  on  me. 

"  Tiens,  INIadeleine,  qui  est-ce  ?  —  comme  elle  a  I'air 
effarouchee ! " 

"  Mais  qui  est-ce  done  ?  " 

"  D'ou  vient-elle  ?  " 

The  large,  greasy-looking  woman  came  towards  me. 
Two  or  three  men  started  up  from  their  sofas.  It  was  as 
the  sudden  breaking  of  a  spell.  I  turned  and  fled.  How 
I  managed  to  get  out  of  the  room,  —  how  I  flew  past  the 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  155 

grave  man  in  black,  and  seizing  my  cloak,  bounded  out  of 
the,  door  and  down  stairs,  —  by  what  sudden  power  I  was 
enabled  to  do  this,  in  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell,  I  know 
not.  Thank  God !  I  did  it :  but  it  was  only  when  I  stood 
in  the  court,  and  felt  the  cool  night  air  blowing  upon  my 
face,  that  I  fully  regained  my  consciousness. 

I  ran  to  the  porter's  glass  door ;  and  shook  it. 

"Une  dame  Anglaise,  Oglevie,  ne  denieure-t-elle  pas 
ici  ?  " 

"  Connais  pas  le  nom." 

"What  on  earth  was  I  to  do  ?  I  heard  the  door  of  the 
first  floor  apartment  burst  open:  a  confused  uproar  of 
men's  voices,  laughing,  and  one,  louder  than  the  rest,  that 
called  out, 

"  Elle  est  descendue  —  suivons-la." 

They  were  coming  down  stairs.  Not  a  moment  was  to  be 
lost :  I  ran  into  the  street. 

Good  God !  What  a  position.  Which  way  to  turn  ? 
should  I  trust  to  speed  in  evading  my  pursuers  ?  Alone  in 
the  middle  of  Paris,  at  night,  with  bare  head  and  arms,  in 
evening  dress,  flying  along  the  street  —  my  heart  and  my 
limbs  alike  failed  me.  Two  or  three  coachmen  were  asleep  on 
their  boxes.  The  thought  occurred  to  me  of  taking  refuge 
inside  one  of  these  carriages,  but  then  they  were  the  prop- 
erty of  some  of  these  very  people  —  perhaps  of  my  pur- 
suers themselves.     No  !  that  would  not  do. 

I  had  had  the  presence  of  mind  to  pull  the  large  door 
close  after  me.  I  now  held  its  handle  tightly  with  both 
hands.  It  Avas  a  few  seconds  gained  at  least  —  while  I 
strained  my  despairing  eyes  up  and  down  the  dark,  silent 
street.  Steps  came  running  down  the  court,  and  a  voice 
cried  out,  "  Cordon  ! "  The  string  was  jerked,  but  I  pulled 
with  all  my  strength,  and  the  door  remained  shut. 

"  Diable  !   qu'est-ce  qu'elle  a  cette  porte  ?  —  Cordon ! 

The  string  was  jerked  violently  again. 


156  RITA: 

"Help!    Help!   Help!" 

Not  a  living  soul  in  sight,  except  the  coachmen,  who  start 
up  from  sleep  and  stare  at  me.     No  help  from  them. 

The  string  is  jerked  a  third  time  —  they  have  discovered, 
by  my  screams,  that  I  am  holding  the  door. 

"Help!  Help!"  —  and  just  then  a  brougham  turns  into 
the  street  a  little  lower  down.  Thank  God!  it  is  coming 
this  way.  The  door  is  forced  open,  but  at  the  same  instant 
the  carriage  drives  up  straight  to  this  very  house.  A  gen- 
tleman jumps  out,  —  I  spring  towards  him,  with  redoubled 
cries,  —  but  a  pair  of  strong  arms  are  thrown  round  me 
from  behind,  lifting  me  off  my  feet,  and  a  loud  laughing 
voice  cries, 

"  Pourquoi  etre  si  cruelle,  mademoiselle,  de  nous  priver 
de  votre  societe  ?  " 

Another  moment,  and  a  grasp  of  iron  seized  the  arms  of 
the  man  who  held  me,  and,  strong  as  he  was,  sent  him  reel- 
ing against  the  wall. 

"  Good  God !    Miss  Percival,  what  do  I  see  ?  " 

I  was  too  overjoyed  to  be  astonished  at  recognizing  Lord 
Eawdon  ;  I  clung  hold  of  him,  and  gasped  out, 

"  Oh !  save  me  —  save  me  from  those  dreadful  men !  I 
—  I  mistook " 

"  Parbleu,  milord,  c'est  fort  joli  ce  que  vous  faites  la !  " 
roared  my  aggressor,  truculently. 

"Messieurs,  par  quelques  apparences,  quelques  circon- 
stances,  peut-etre,  que  je  ne  connais  pas,  vous  vous  etes 
trompes.  ]Monsieur  le  comte,  cette  demoiselle  est  sous  ma 
protection.  Qui  que  ce  soit  qui  I'insulte  m'en  repondra. 
Vous  connaissez  mon  adresse." 

"What  effect  this  speech  produced  on  the  young  man  he 
had  called  Count,  I  hardly  know :  I  was  too  frightened  to 
look  or  listen.  His  companions  seemed  to  treat  the  thing  as 
a  good  joke.  Lord  Rawdon  said  something  to  one  of  them ; 
then  turned  and  handed  me  into  his  brougham  as  composedly 
as  if  nothing  had  happened. 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  157 

"  Miss  Percival,  where  may  I  have  the  honor  of  conduct- 
ing you  ?  " 

"JVFay  I  —  will  you  —  ask  your  coachman  to  drive  me 
home." 

Agitated  as  I  was,  I  had  not  completely  lost  my  presence 
of  mind.  I  sat  close  to  the  door,  and  held  it  with  one  hand, 
as  I  extended  the  other  through  the  window. 

"I  shall  be  better  able  to  thank  you  to-morrow.  Lord 
Kawdon.     Good  night ! "     And  I  drew  up  the  glass. 

He  did  not  hesitate  a  moment,  but  jumped  upon  the  box, 
and  seized  the  reins  from  his  coachman's  hand. 

"  Le  jeu  de  I'amour  et  du  hasard ! "  laughed  one  of  the 
group,  as  we  drove  off.  A  man  passed  along  the  street  at 
the  same  moment.  The  hght  from  the  gas-lamp  fell  upon 
his  face,  as  it  did  into  the  carriage  upon  mine.  He  looked 
at  me,  and  I  recognized  him.     It  was  Hubert  Rochford. 

The  coincidence  was  so  singular  that  I  almost  doubted  my 
own  eyes.  I  had  a  strong  inclination  to  call  after  him,  but 
what  excuse  had  I  ?  —  what  would  be  the  use  of  it  ?  —  I 
was  going  home.  All  would  be  explained  to  Lady  Janet 
and  to  him  to-morrow.  Had  he  recognized  him,  Lord  Raw- 
don,  to  be  sure  he  must  think  it  very  strange.  Was  he  on 
his  way  to  Lady  Janet's  ?  As  to  my  going  there  now,  of 
course,  it  was  out  of  the  question.  My  brain  was  in  a 
feverish  whirl :  my  hair  had  fallen  about  my  shoulders.  I 
leaned  back,  and  covered  my  face  with  my  hands. 

Those  few  minutes  had  been  more  eventful  than  many 
entire  lives.  What  a  fatality  that  I  should  have  forgotten  a 
number,  for  almost  the  first  time  in  my  life,  just  when  such 
a  mistake  was  of  real  consequence !  More  strange  still, 
considering  that  the  address  was  written,  and  how  its  writing 
was  imj^ressed  upon  my  mind.  And  that  I  should  never 
have  thought  of  asking  if  Lady  Janet  hved  there  !  I  Jiad 
had  a  glimpse  into  society  of  which  most  young  ladies 
probably  do  not  know  the  existence,  —  a  glance  into  that 


158  RITA:   AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

depraved  world  which  is  the  secret  sore  of  all  great .  cities 
like  Paris.  I  shuddered  when  I  thought  of  that  fair  and 
gentle-looking  girl,  with  camehas.  Did  one  but  know  them, 
how  many  terrible  unwritten  histories  that  one  room  con- 
tained ! 

It  was  a  providential  escape.  But  was  it  chance  that 
brought  Rawdon  down  the  street  at  that  moment?  His 
brougham  had  di-iven  straight  up  to  the  very  door  —  the»e 
was  evidently  a  recognition  between  him  and  those  men. 
"Was  this  the  society  in  Avhich  report  said  he  spent  so  much 
of  his  time  ? 

Then  my  thoughts  returned  again  with  secret  uneasiness 
to  the  vision  of  Rochford.  What  must  he  be  thinking  of  me 
at  this  moment ! 

The  carriage  stopped :  I  was  at  home.  Rawdon  opened 
the  door  and  handed  me  out. 

"  You  will  come  and  see  us  to-morrow,"- 1  said.  "  I  can- 
not explain  it  all  to  you  now.  In  the  mean  time,  try  and 
j)revent  this  affair  from  getting  talked  of.  Do  not  let  my 
name  appear  if  you  can  help  it." 

"  I  promise  your  name  shall  not  appear  —  none  of  them 
know  you  —  and  if —  " 

He  held  my  hand  for  an  instant,  as  if  about  to  add  some- 
thing, then  dropped  it,  merely  adding, 

"  Good  night.     I  hope  to  see  you  to-morrow." 

I  little  thought  it  would  be  many  to-morrows  ere  we 
should  meet  again. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"  And  now,  dear  mother,  I  have  told  you  all,  and  it  will 
be  better  to  say  nothing  about  last  night's  business  to  any 
one.  Nobody  but  Lord  Eawdon  and  one  other  person  knew 
me  —  " 

"And  about  Lady  Greybrook,  dear,  don't  you  mean  to 
tell  her?" 

"  Above  all,  mother,  not  a  word  to  her.  Lady  Janet  is 
the  only  exception  I  shall  make,  and  am  going  there 
presently.  I  was  only  waiting  to  see  Lord  Rawdon,  Avhen 
he  calls." 

"  What  must  he  have  thought,  my  love  ?  —  so  distressing 
and  disagreeable  that  kind  of  thing,  eh  ?  " 

As  we  were  talking.  Lady  Greybrook  was  announced. 
She  put  her  head  into  my  mother's  bedroom,  where  we 
were. 

"Will  you  accord  me  les  petites  entries'^  Astonished  to 
see  me  so  matinale,  ain't  you  ?  Not  yet  two  o'clock ! 
Could  n't  resist  coming  to  ask  if  you  'd  heard  the  news.  No  ? 
Well  I  'm  really  lucky.  What  do  you  think  has  happened  ? 
Je  vous  le  donne  en  dix  — je  vous  le  donne  en  vingt,  as  Mad- 
ame de  Sevignc  says.  All  Paris  will  be  talking  of  nothing 
else  for  the  next  three  days.  It  has  put  me  quite  into  an 
agitation ! " 

"  Good  gracious !  Lady  Greybrook,  do  tell  us  at  once 
what  it  is,"  said  my  mother.  "  I  can't  bear  this  sort  of  sus- 
pense." 

(159) 


160  RITA: 

"  It  concerns  some  one  you  know  well,"  said  her  ladyship, 
fixing  her  eyes  on  me.     "  Guess." 

I  felt  a  qhoking  tightness  at  my  chest,  and  could  actually 
hear  my  heart  beating. 

"  We  can't,"  said  my  mother  plaintively.  "  Oh !  do 
tell  us." 

"  Are  you  really  prepared  ?  "Well,  then,  it  appears  that 
this  morning.  Lord  Rawdon  fought  a  duel  with  Count  M., 
and  is  severely  wounded ! " 

My  mother  gave  a  loud  cry.  Some  involuntary  sound 
escaped  my  lips,  and  I  leaned  back  in  my  chair. 

''  Heavens,  Rita !  what  is  the  matter  ?  You  're  as  white 
as  a  sheet.  Don't  faint,  pray.  Why,  you  did  n't  care  for 
that  gay  Lothario,  I  hope  ?  I  was  afraid  you  saw  too  much 
of  him.  Mrs.  Percival,  I  think  it  is  quite  fortunate  that  he 
will  be  hors  de  combat  in  this  or  any  other  way  for  some 
time  to  come,'''  and  she  gave  a  little  rippling  laugh. 

"  Is  the  cause  of  the  meeting  known  ?  "  asked  my  mother, 
tremulously. 

"  Not  exactly  —  a  woman  at  the  bottom  of  it,  of  course. 
Such  a  mauvais  sujet.     Poor  fellow  !  " 

"  Ah  me ! "  said  my  mother,  wiping  her  eyes ;  "  but  he 
has  his  good  points.  Oh  dear,  I  wish  I  could  go  and  nurse 
him ! " 

"  The  post  is  already  filled.  Make  yourself  easy,  dear 
Mrs.  Percival ;  the  Galofi>;ka  will  watch  over  him  better 
than  any  sceur  de  charite.  I  called  in  the  Rue  St.  Florentin 
on  my  way,  just  to  ask  how  he  was  going  on.  She  drove 
up  at  the  same  moment,  having  just  heard  of  it,  admirably 
got  up  for  the  part :  white  peignoir  —  black  veil  —  hair  di- 
shevelled." 

"  Do  you  think  she  really  cares  for  him  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so,  or  she  would  n't  set  the  world  at  defi- 
ance in  that  way.  By-the-by,  last  night  at  her  reception, 
you  know,  Rita,  he  was  not  there.     She  was  dreadfully  an- 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  161 

noyed,  and  kept  looking  towards  the  door  the  whole  evening. 
Then  she  suddenly  became  very  anxious  to  know  where 
yoit-viQve.  I  dare  say  it  has  something  to  do  with  this  silly 
affair  that  kept  him  away." 

My  mother  cast  an  uneasy  glance  at  me. 

"  Is  it,"  I  contrived  to  gasp  out  —  "  is  it  a  serious  wound  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  believe  it  is.  They  seemed  to  be  afraid  of  his 
arm  —  could  n't  extract  the  ball,  or  something  of  the  sort. 
Very  shocking,  ain't  it  ?  AYell,  I  must  n't  stay  any  longer ; 
to-night  I  '11  call  for  you  at  ten,  my  dear,  for  the  Apponys." 

"  I  shall  not  be  able  to  go  to-night,  thank  you ;  I  am  not 
well." 

Lady  Greybrook  protested  loudly  against  my  "  doing  sen- 
timental ; "  said  the  world  would  begin  to  talk,  and  couple 
my  sudden  retiijfment  from  its  gay  scenes  with  Lord  Raw- 
don's  "  little  accident ; "  used  every  argument,  in  short,  she 
could  think  of,  and  finally  got  quite  angry  when  I  said  that 
nothing  should  induce  me  to  alter  my  intention  of  remaining 
at  home. 

As  soon  as  she  was  gone,  I  threw  myself  into  my  mother's 
arms.  "  Oh !  mother,  I  am  so  wretched  !  Think  if  he  were 
to  die,  and  on  my  account!  Even  to  be  the  involuntary 
cause  of  this,  is  something  too  dreadful.  Never  ask  me, 
mother,  to  go  out,  as  long  as  he  is  ill.  It  is  n't  that  I  care 
for  him  — you  know  that,  mother  — but  it  is  too  heartless; 
and  to  hear  that  woman  talking  in  her  light,  careless  way  of 
it !  Has  the  world  really  such  a  petrifying  effect  on  every 
one  ?  I  don't  care  what  she  says,  I  will  not  be  dragged 
into  the  world  until  he  is  out  of  danger." 

"Well,  my  darling  —  there,  calm  yourself — do;  and 
we  '11  talk  over  it  quietly." 

An  hour  afterwards  I  sat  by  Lady  Janet  on  the  sofa  m 
her  drawing-room.  We  were  alone,  and  I  related  all  the 
circumstances  of  the  previous  night  faithfully  and  minutely. 

11 


162  RITA: 

She  listened  with  a  grim  composure,  manifesting  neither 
horror  nor  astonishment. 

"  Just  what  one  might  expect,  of  course.  I  'm  not  such  a 
fool  as  to  blame  you.  No  fault  of  yours  that  you  were 
pitched  out  at  that  house,  like  a  bale  of  goods,  by  that  wo- 
man —  nice  care  to  take  of  a  girl !  —  but  I  do  say  it  serves 
your  mother  right  for  sending  you  out  with  that  creature  — 
what  could  she  expect  ?  /  warned  her.  /  told  her  what 
would  come  of  this  fashion  hunting  —  better  have  kept  you 
darning  stockings  at  home,  instead.  Why,  do  you  suppose 
any  respectable  man  would  marry  —  pah !  I  tell  you  she  is 
known  from  Dan  to  Beersheba  for  a  disreputable  jade  —  all 
false  about  her :  heart,  and  tongue,  and  cheeks,  and  teeth, 
and  all  —  pah  !  " 

The  expression  of  "fuming"  is  the  only  one  that  gives 
any  idea  of  the  manner  in  which  the  old  lady  delivered  her- 
self of  this  exordium.  I  felt  it  best  to  be  silent.  Without 
entering  into  domestic  details,  which  I  thought  myself  hardly 
justified  in  doing,  it  was  impossible  to  show  her  all  the  diffi- 
culty my  poor  mother  had  in  resisting  the  stream  of  circum- 
stance. After  a  while  she  continued,  with  somewhat  less 
asperity, 

"  I  believe  you  're  naturally  a  good  girl  —  horribly  brought 
up,  of  course  ;  but  I  think  well  of  you,  otherwise  I  shouldn't 
take  the  trouble  of  talking  to  you  now.  Pray  do  you  think 
you  can  touch  pitch  and  not  be  defiled  ?  Do  you  suppose 
you  can  have  for  a  companion  such  a  woman  as  that,  and 
surrounded  by  such  a  set  as  she  is,  and  not  become  hardened 
to  evil  ?  There  is  that  lord,  for  instance,  of  course  he  thinks 
himself  privileged  to  play  the  fool  with  a  girl  he  sees  in  com- 
pany with  such  a  woman  as  Lady  Greybrook  —  pah  !  —  one 
of  the  most  profligate  men  in  Paris,  I  'm  told.  And  now 
you  '11  be  more  intimate  than  ever  with  him,  from  gratitude 
and  so  forth,  after  last  night.  Pah  !  —  the  worst  thin^  that 
could  happen  to  you." 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  163 

My  cheeks  burned  scarlet. 

"  Your  fears,  as  regards  Lord  Rawdon  at  least,  are  ground- 
less.'*-There  is,  I  grieve  to  say,  no  chance  of  my  seeing  him 
for  a  very  long  time,  if  ever.  The  unfortunate  consequence 
of  his  chivalrous  conduct  last  nighty  was  a  duel  —  a  duel  with 
one  of  those  men,  and  he  —  Loi'd  Rawdon  —  is  severely 
wounded." 

"  May  the  Lord  have  mercy  on  him  !  "  she  said,  in  a  low 
tone,  "  and  lead  him  to  repent  of  his  ways !  This  is  very 
bad  —  very  bad  indeed.  I  thought  these  horrid  fights  had 
gone  out  of  fashion.  How  carelessly  these  men  rush  into 
the  jaws  of  death,  without  a  thought  on  the  awful  fiery  tor- 
ments that  await  the  unprepared ! " 

There  was  no  doctrine  of  her  church  which  this  really 
kind  woman  would  not  sooner  have  given  up,  I  beUeve,  than 
that  of  a  state  of  future  punishment. 

"  I  bore  him  no  love,  as  you  know,  but  I  am  sincerely 
sorry :  so  Avill  Hubert  Rochford  be,  I  am  sure,  when  — " 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  I,  gaining  courage,  and  clearing  my 
throat  to  get  at  the  point  I  anxiously  waited  for  —  "I  am 
afraid  Mr.  Rochford  must  have  had  a  very  strange  opinion 
of  me  when  he  saw  me  in  Lord  Rawdon's  carriage,  and 
alone.     He  spoke  of  it  —  what  did  he  say  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Rochford  was  shocked  to  see  any  young  woman  in 
such  a  position,  under  the  protection  of  a  bad  man,"  said 
Lady  Janet,  with  her  old  rigidity  and  dryness ;  "  otherwise, 
of  course,  it  did  n't  concern  him." 

"  I  hoped  to  have  explained  to  Mr.  Rochford  how  I  came 
to  be  in  such  an  extraordinary  position.  As  I  shaU  not  see 
him  perhaps  —  for  some  days  —  will  you  —  will  you — " 

"  TeH  him  the  long  story  you  have    been    telling  mc  ? 
Well,  it  is  but  right  I  should  do  so.     He  shall  know  every 
particular.     I  will  write  to  him  by  to-night's  post." 
"  I  thought  you  saw  him  nearly  every  day?" 
"I  did  so   while  he  was  here,"  she   answered,  looking 


164  EITA: 

at  me  intently,  "but  he  left  Paris  an  hour  ago,  for  Eng- 
land." 

How  I  stood  the  old  lady's  scrutiny  I  know  not.  I  remem- 
ber, when  I  got  home,  locking  myself  into  my  room,  and  sit- 
ting down  on  the  bed,  feeling  incapable  of  any  exertion.  I 
first  learnt  then  the  full  force  of  that  scriptural  phrase  the 
"  bruised  in  spirit."  I  tried  to  shake  off  the  wretchedness 
that  weighed  on  me ;  I  argued  with  myself,  called  up  my 
pride  —  in  vain.  The  whole  of  Lady  Janet's  conversation 
had  hurt  and  grieved  me  far  more  than  I  allowed  her  to  see. 
And  she  was  the  only  link  I  had  now !  Why  had  I  not 
taken  my  aunt's  advice,  and  sought  her  long  ago  —  made 
her  my  friend?  She  was  his  friend;  had  she  prejudiced 
him  against  me  ?  No,  I  did  not  believe  that.  With  all  her 
asperity,  she  meant  kindly  by  me  —  But  he  was  gone ! 
Whatever  he  might  have  felt  —  whether  it  amounted  to  any 
thing  more  than  pity  for  my  youth  and  position  —  he  was 
gone !  He  had  not  even  waited  to  hear  the  explanation  of 
my  conduct ;  he  had  departed,  taking  with  him  more  than  a 
doubt,  perhaps,  about  me.  "  A  letter  from  his  mother  that 
morning  had  hurried  his  departure ;  pressing  business,"  she 
said.  Cruel !  and  yet  what  right  had  I  to  say  so  ?  Had  he 
ever,  by  so  much  as  a  word,  given  encouragement  to  this 
wild  hope  that  had  been  growing  up,  unknown  to  myself,  in 
my  heart  of  hearts  ?  Might  he  not,  in  truth,  despise  me  ? 
Had  he  not  seen  me  enjoying  to  exercise  my  influence  over 
a  man  of  whom  he  had  the  worst  opinion,  encouraging  his 
attention,  living  in  daily  intimacy  with  a  woman  of  indiffer- 
ent character,  and  resisting  the  proffered  friendship  of  a 
wise,  though  stern,  unflinching  one  ? 

Then,  if  my  thoughts  turned  to  the  wounded  mrfn,  there 
was  nothing  but  misery  in  that  direction.  The  phantasma- 
goria by  which  I  had  been  surrounded  during  the  last  few 
weeks  seemed  to  have  utterly  faded  away,  and  to  have  left 
two  bare  facta  standing  out  with  terrible  distinctness.     I  had 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  165 

gone  through  a  fiery  ordeal,  and  if  unscathed  at  heart,  was 
not  so  perhaps  in  name.  I  knew  that  a  warm  breath  had 
passed  over  me ;  the  first  blush  of  the  heart  had  died  away, 
and  the  wings  of  that  angel  whose  name  is  Happiness  had 
swept  by,  perhaps  never  to  return. 

Some  days  elapsed.  We  sent  constantly  to  inquire  for 
Lord  Rawdon ;  the  ball,  after  great  agony,  was  extracted 
from  the  shoulder,  and  he  was  pronounced  to  be  safe.  I 
cannot  describe  the  relief  and  thankfulness  I  felt;  but  the 
trouble  and  anxiety  of  the  last  few  days  had  left  me  very 
weak  and  irritable.  Even  my  father,  when  he  came  to  urge 
me  (in  no  very  mild  terms)  to  go  out,  was  shocked  to  see 
me  looking  so  ill,  and  told  Lady  Greybrook  it  was  impossi- 
ble I  could  do  so  for  some  days.  That  lady  I  positively 
declined  receiving.  I  could  not  have  stood  her  raillery. 
She  sent  me  several  graceful  little  notes,  full  of  the  on  dits 
of  the  day,  touched  in  her  gossamer  style ;  assured  me  that 
every  one  was  desole  at  my  illness,  particularly  the  Marquis 
d'Ofort  (who,  by  the  way,  left  endless  cards  ornamented 
with  a  very  big  coronet),  and  protested  that  she  felt  quite 
lonely,  going  out  without  her  darling  Rita !  It  was  a  rehef 
to  find  that  my  name  had  never  been  connected  in  any  way 
with  the  cause  of  the  duel ;  had  it  been  so.  Lady  Greybrook 
would  have  been  the  first  to  inform  me. 

I  tried  to  employ  myself,  as  of  old,  in  those  pursuits  which 
(spite  of  all  my  resolutions)  had  been  abandoned  of  late. 
But  I  found  my  thoughts  constantly  wandering,  and  good 
Miss  Lateward  complained  that  I  had  "  quite  lost  that  power 
of  concentration,  which  is  the  most  valuable  habit  of  the 
mind."  I  could  not  explain  to  her,  excellent  woman  that 
she  was !  how  the  feverish  restlessness  with  which  I  turned 
from  one  subject  to  another,  was  the  result  of  "  a  mind  dis- 
eased "  not  by  the  excitements  of  the  world,  but  by  the  bitter 
thoughts  that  crowded  on  my  brain.  These  were  not  to  be 
translated  into  a  language  she  could  understand.     I  doubt, 


166  RITA : 

indeed,  whether  at  that  time  I  could  have  confided  them  to 
any  one.  I  tried  to  begin  a  letter  to  my  aunt,  but  even  that 
was  now  a  ditficult  task  to  me  ;  and  there  it  lay,  half-finished, 
when  — 

One  day,  about  a  week  after  the  events  I  have  been 
recording,  my  father  sent  for  me  into  his  room.  I  found 
him  seated  before  a  heap  of  letters,  and  he'  held  the  Galig- 
nani  of  that  morning  in  his  hand.  He  looked  up  as  I 
entered,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  his  features  were  working 
with  some  unusual  emotion.  A  bracelet  lay  on  the  table 
before  him ;  he  snatched  it  up  with  an  oath,  and  thrust  it 
into  his  pocket. 

"  Come  in  —  and  read  that."  He  handed  me  the  paper. 
"  May  n't  be  true,  you  know  —  but  —  you  must  break  it  to 
her  —  I  can't." 

I  seized  the  paper.  My  eye  fastened  on  the  paragraph  to 
which  he  pointed,  and  I  had  sufficient  strength  to  read  it  to 
an  end.     It  was  headed, 

"  Distressing  and  Fatal  Catastrophe.  Mar- 
seilles.—  The  melancholy  intelligence  has  just  reached 
this  town  of  the  loss  of  an  English  yacht,  the  Seagull 
schooner,  1 20  tons,  the  property  of  Mr.  Follet.  Besides  the 
owner,  there  were  on  board  Lady  Dacre,  her  daughter,  to 
whom  Mr.  Follet  is  said  to  have  been  engaged,  and  the 
crew,  amounting  to  eighteen  persons.  "We  have,  as  yet, 
received  no  particulars  of  this  terrible  catastrophe.  The 
steamer  from  Genoa  states  that  she  passed  the  timbers  of 
the  wreck,  but  the  yacht  had  evidently  gone  down  some 
hours  before,  and  there  is  but  too  much  reason  to  fear  that 
all  hands  on  board  have  perished." 

I  read  it  word  for  word,  and  then  the  blood  seemed  to 
rush  violently  to  my  ears,  and  eyes,  and  brain.  I  fell  into 
the  chair  my  father  placed  for  me,  and  knew  nothing  for 
some  minutes.  I  remember  his  pouring  out  a  glass  of  cold 
water,  and  walking  to  the  window.     I  drank  a  httle,  and 


AN   AUfOBIOGRAPHT.  167 

tried  to  collect  my  thoughts.  Did  I  doubt  it  ?  Oh  no !  I 
hneio  it  to  be  true.  The  overwhelming  horror  of  the  event 
■was'  there  alone  —  ghastly  —  spectral,  yet  real :  I  never 
doubted.  At  last  the  bursting  springs  gave  way,  and  a  cry 
broke  from  the  desolate  heart,  for  that  faithful  counsellor 
and  friend,  the  only  real  guardian  of  my  life,  snatched  from 
me  for  ever !  I  threw  myself  upon  my  knees,  in  a  frenzy 
of  wild  and  passionate  sobs. 

My  father  never  spoke.  "With  rare  tact,  he  saw  it  was 
better  to  let  the  full  storm  of  grief  have  its  course,  though 
my  whole  being  seemed  shaken  to  its  very  foundation.  He 
had  never  seen  me  cry,  probably,  in  his  whole  life  before ; 
and  now  he  guessed  that ''  great  nature "  was  "  more  wise 
than  "  he :  so  he  stood  there  silently  at  the  window. 

I  will  not  dwell  upon  the  misery  of  tliat  day.  In  my 
mother's  weak  state  of  health,  break  the  news  as  gently  as  I 
could,  the  effect  could  not  be  otherwise  than  terrible.  She 
had  a  succession  of  fainting  and  hysterical  fits :  then,  to- 
wards evening,  grew  feverish  and  light-headed.  She  talked 
in  a  wild,  rambling  way  of  her  sister ;  upbraided  herself  for 
having  wronged  her ;  referred  to  days  and  things  long  past, 
and  to  people  of  whom  I  knew  nothing.  Miss  Lateward 
and  I,  who  sat  beside  her,  at  last  became  so  uneasy,  that  we 
sent  for  the  doctor.  He  said  I  need  not  be  alarmed :  that 
it  was  the  effect  of  a  shock  on  the  nervous  system,  which 
w^ould  soon  pass,  and  he  ordered  some  calming  medicines, 
which  had  the  desired  effect  of  putting  her  to  sleep.  But 
the  next  day,  and  the  day  after  that,  in  spite  of  the  doctor's 
predictions,  my  mother  did  not  rally  from  the  shock.  She 
was  visibly  weaker.  Calm,  indeed,  she  now  was,  but  it  was 
the  calmness  of  prostration. 

"We  received  confirmation  of  the  terrible  news  two  days 
afterwards.  The  yacht  had  been  caught  in  one  of  those 
fierce  Mediterranean  storms  and  driven  upon  some  rocks. 
Two  of  the  crew  only  were  saved,  having  been  picked  up  by 


168  RITA 


.♦ 


a  Spanish  vessel,  after  drifting  many  hours  on  a  spar ;  and 
if  any  faint  glimmer  of  hope  yet  lived  in  any  of  us,  it  was 
now  extinguished  forever. 

My  father  never  once  spoke  upon  the  subject.  What  he 
may  have  felt  none  of  us  ever  knew.  He  went  once  or 
twice  into  my  mother's  room,  but  avoided,  I  fancied,  being 
left  alone  with  her.  Rose,  who  surprised  me  by  the  thought 
and  care  she  showed,  was  in  almost  constant  attendance  on 
my  mother,  and  appeared  to  me  to  have  stepped  suddenly 
into  the  woman.  I  forgot  that  the  prominent  position  I  had 
always  taken  in  the  house  had  prevented  Rose  from  exer- 
cising these  dormant  qualities ;  but  now  I  was  often  obliged 
to  go  and  lie  down  for  hours  in  a  darkened  room  ;  my 
nerves  had  been  so  much  overtaxed  of  late,  that  it  had 
begun  to  tell  on  my  general  health ;  and  thus  my  sister 
came  more  forward.  She  supplied  my  place  by  my  mother's 
bedside ;  and  saw  any  necessary  visitors  who  called. 

Thus  a  melancholy  month  passed.  The  spring,  that 
saddest  of  all  seasons  when  the  heart  is  out  of  tune,  was 
beginning  to  push  forth  its  tips  of  tender  green  upon  the 
branches  in  the  Champs  Elysees.  The  air  of  the  street  was 
heavy  with  the  scent  of  wall-flowers  from  open  windows ; 
birds,  too,  were  already  singing,  though,  as  yet,  they  were 
but  solitary  messengers  from  warmer  lands.  Half  the 
English  had  left  Paris ;  Lady  Janet  was  gone,  and  I  had 
not  strength  to  go  and  wish  her  good-by.  Lady  Greybrook 
still  lingered,  and  I  forced  myself  to  receive  her  once  or 
twice,  after  which,  finding  what  dull  company  I  was,  she  did 
not  call  again. 

One  morning  my  father  was  closeted  with  my  mother  for 
some  little  time,  after  which  she  sent  for  me.  It  was  found, 
she  said,  that  my  aunt  had  left  two  wills :  the  last  executed 
just  before  she  went  abroad.  The  greater  part  of  Lady 
Dacre's  fortune  was  not  in  her  own  power :  it  would  have 
devolved  naturally  to  her  daughter,  and  now  passed  in  due 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  169 

course  of  succession  to  the  present  baronet,  who  was  a 
distant  cousin.  In  the  earUer  will,  dated  some  ten  years 
back,  my  aunt  bequeathed  five  hundred  pounds  to  each  of"  us 
children,  and  a  thousand  pounds  to  my  mother.  In  the 
latter  will,  however,  some  trinkets  and  papers  only  were  left 
to  my  mother,  and  to  myself  was  bequeathed  an  annuity  of 
a  hundred  pounds,  to  be  paid  quarterly,  from  the  date  of  my 
aunt's  death.  The  same  legacies,  as  in  the  former  will, 
were  left  to  my  brothers  and  sister,  to  be  paid  on  their 
coming  of  age,  or,  under  sanction  of  the  trustees,  to  be 
devoted  to  an  Indian  outfit,  or  other  object  promoting  their 
worldly  interest,  during  theiv  minority.  The  trustees  were 
both  barrister-friends  of  my  aunt,  to  us  personally  unknown. 

"  The  reason  of  this  change  in  your  dear  aunt's  disposal 
of  her  property,"  said  my  mother,  in  a  low  voice,  "  you 
must  not  misunderstand,  deai-.  We  were  alwavs  —  I  mean 
latterly  —  always  the  same,  thank  God  !  "  Here  she  broke 
down,  but  recovering  herself,  continued :  "  I  may  say  it  was 
my  request  —  yes,  request,  when  she  said  she  was  making 
her  will,  that  she  would  leave  me  nothing  —  but  rather  to 
you.  /should  have  been  able  to  do  so  little,  you  see  —  I 
knew  how  it  would  all  go  —  like  the  rest !  whereas  you, 
I  hope,  will  do  a  great  deal  with  this,  my  child,  —  and 
you'll  he  firmer  about  it  than  I  could  be,  won't  you,  dear  ?  " 

I  pressed  her  hand  silently ;  my  heart  was  too  sick  and 
weary  for  words.  She  seemed  about  to  add  something,  but 
changed  her  mind.  "  Xo,  later  —  some  other  time,"  she 
muttered  to  herself,  and  changed  the  conversation.  My 
father  was  much  disappointed  at  the  tenor  of  the  will.  He 
talked  of  sending  Ernest  to  India  at  once,  now  that  his 
outfit,  etc.,  was  provided  for,  as  he  had  the  promise  of  a 
direct  appointment,  and  his  schooling  was  such  an  expense. 
The  others,  too,  must  go  to  school ;  and  he  talked  (my 
mother  said)  of  trying  to  persuade  the  trustees  to  devote  the 
boys'  legacies  to  that  purpose. 


170  RITA : 

"  And  now,  Rita,  I  want  to  talk  about  yourself.  You  are 
looking  very  ill,  darling.  The  doctor  was  speaking  of  you 
yesterday,  and  said  you  ought  to  have  change  of  air,  and 
that  nothing  else  will  set  you  up.  Now,  curiously  enough, 
here  is  a  note  I  have  just  got  from  Madame  Gobemouche, 
saying  they  go  back  to  their  caiiipugne,  near  T — ,  to-morrow, 
and  asking  if  I  would  let  you  go  with  them,  and  stay  there 
for  a  month  or  two.  What  do  you  say  ?  As  it  happens  that 
owing  to  this  —  this  —  "  her  voice  faltered  —  "mourning, 
your  father  can't  expect  you  to  go  out  now,  I  don't  suppose 
he  will  objectj" 

My  heart  yearned  for  the  quiet  of  the  country  —  for  a 
complete  change  of  scene  and  association.  The  only  draw- 
back was  leaving  my  mother.  I  asked  if  she  did  not  feel 
that  a  change  would  do  her  good  herself. 

"  My  love,  no  change  would  do  me  any  good.  I  have  long 
felt  that  it  is  only  an  affair  of  some  months  more  or  less  with 
me.  My  malady,  I  know,  is  incurable.  I  am  sorry  to 
grieve  you,  Rita,  but  it  is  right  you  should  know  this.  I 
have  often  thought  I  would  tell  you,  but  now  —  You  must 
go  away  and  get  quite  strong  and  well,  dear.  Think  if  you 
were  to  fall  seriously  ill  too,  how  much  worse  it  would  make 
things !  You  will  have  plenty  of  trouble,  I  am  afraid, 
darling,  without  bad  health  to  fight  against !  " 

I  knew  my  mother's  spirits  were  so  low,  and  she  had  often 
before  spoken  so  despondingly  of  herself,  that  I  did  not  at- 
tach the  serious  importance  to  her  words  they  indicated.  I 
threw  my  arms  round  her,  and  assured  her  she  was  look- 
ing better  than  she  had  done  for  some  days,  and  my  good 
governess  —  who  would  not  have  told  a  story  to  save  any  one's 
life fortunately  entered  just  then  to  corrobora.te  the  asser- 
tion. Indeed,  later  in  that  same  day  I  was  surprised  to 
hear  that  my  mother  had  received  Mr.  Murray  when  he 
called.  Natures,  however,  are  differently  constituted  ;  mine 
partakes  of  the  savageness  of  wild  beasts,  Avho,  in  sickness, 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  171 

shun  their  kind,  and  retire  to  moan  out  their  hearts  in  soli- 
tude. My  mother,  on  the  contrary,  when  sufTering,  derived 
conifort  from  the  society  of  those  she  hked,  and  among  that 
number  was  certainly  Charles  Murray :  she  generally  saw 
him  when  he  called. 

As  my  father  made  no  objection,  I  accepted  General  and 
Madame  Gobemouche's  invitation  that  afternoon ;  and  the 
following  morning  found  me  seated  in  the  coupe  of  the  T  — 
diligence  between  the  old  couple. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

I  HAD  to  make  an  exertion  to  meet  the  conversational  de- 
mands of  my  two  friends,  who,  attributing  my  depression  to 
physical  rather  than  moral  causes,  sought  to  "  distract  "  me 
(in  French  phrase).  And  tliis  exertion  was  the  best  thing 
for  me  in  the  state  I.  was.  Perhaps  the  necessity  of  coming 
out  of  ourselves  is  good  for  us  under  any  circumstances. 
Certainly  I  believe  it  is  so  in  trouble.  Had  I  been  alone  all 
those  weeks  in  the  midst  of  my  unhappy  family,  I  should 
have  brooded  reproachfully  over  the  past,  despondingly  over 
the  future.  My  mind,  as  it  was,  regained  a  comparatively 
healthy  tone  at  Grandregard.  Of  the  complexity  of  sore 
troubles  that  overshadowed  me,  Madame  Gobemouche  knew 
but  one.  My  aunt  was  dead  —  that  stern  Englishwoman  in 
a  green  veil  whom  she  remembered  to  have  occasionally  seen 
and  dreaded.  "  C'est  bien  une  tante,"  she  said,  with  a 
shrug;  but  she  httle  guessed  all  the  loss  was  to  me;  as 
little  as  she  knew  how  the  burden  of  that  sorrow  was 
increased  by  all  that  had  preceded  it. 

The  Chateau  de  Grandregard,  as  Madame  Gobemouche 
took  occasion  to  inform  me,  was  her  own  property,  where 
she  had  lived  in  dignified  retirement  during  the  period  of 
her  widowhood,  and  which  she  had  embellished  according  to 
her  own  unassisted  taste.  It  was  a  very  white  house,  with 
intensely  green  shutters,  and  a  great  many  of  them,  standing 
on  a  slight  elevation,  as  its  ambitious  title  indicated,  just  out- 
side the  town  of  T — .  The  garden  Avas  surrounded  by  a 
(172) 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  173 

wall,  having  stone  pots  upon  it.  The  iron  gate  was  of  an 
elaborate  construction  and  gilt,  as  were  the  weathercocks  on 
the  fbp  of  the  very  high  roof,  sparkling  like  minarets  in  the 
summer  sun.  The  whole  place  managed  to  look  bright  and 
cheerful  even  on  a  rainy  day.  It  was  also,  I  must  confess, 
a  specimen  of  the  worst  French  taste,  which  —  Hke  persons 
habitually  good  —  when  it  takes  to  vicious  courses,  becomes 
incurable  and  outrageous.  There  was  a  cow  of  painted 
canvas  with  deal  props,  forever  waiting  to  be  milked  on  the 
grass-plot  before  the  door.  This  was  supposed  to  give  the 
place  a  rural  look,  which,  from  its  vicinity  to  the  town, 
might  have  been  wanting.  I  have  always  had  a  weakness 
for  statues  in  a  garden,  but  the  number  of  white  Venuses  and 
Fauns  set  up,  like  ninepins,  in  that  small  quadrangle,  used 
to  make  my  eyes  ache,  and  almost  sickenened  me  of  the 
plastic  art  for  life.  The  flower-beds  were  mostly  guarded 
by  rows  of  sharp,  distorted  little  rocks,  like  teeth ;  and  there 
was  a  grotto  of  shells,  with  a  marine  view  at  the  further  end 
(which  latter,  not  being  stretched  tight  enough,  had  some 
diagonal  waves  across  the  sky),  upon  which  madame  es- 
pecially prided  herself,  and  where  she  generally  insisted  on 
our  taking  coffee  after  dinner.  The  interior  of  the  chateau 
corresponded  with  its  external  decorations.  A  general  at- 
mosphere of  yellow  satin  pervaded  it ;  mirrors  and  gilding, 
and  engravings  from  the  emperor's  battles,  round  the  Avails, 
and  so  many  oi-molu  and  alabaster  clocks  in  all  the  rooms, 
that  one  might  have  thought  the  computation  of  time  was 
the  sole  enjoyment  of  the  household.  And  a  household  of 
busy  idleness,  in  truth,  it  was,  from  the  bowl  of  gold  and 
silver  fish,  the  monkey,  cockatoo,  and  cageful  of  canaries, 
upAvards,  to  madame  herself  running  about  all  day  long  with 
lumps  of  sugar  for  her  birds.  Life,  and  song,  and  sunshine 
filled  the  house ;  and  its  excellent  old  owners  did  their  best 
to  infuse  some  of  the  latter  into  me.  I  exerted  myself  to 
meet  their  kindness  by  not  appeai'iug  indillei'eut  to  all  that 


174  rita: 

interested  them.  After  the  first  few  days  I  succeeded  in 
getting  up  the  poultry  statistics,  and  in  keeping  my  attention 
ahve  to  the  sleek  Uttle  Abbe's  gossip ;  he  being  our  daily 
visitor,  and  a  general  favorite  with  madame. 

But  when  I  was  alone,  and  oftenest  in  the  long  night 
hours,  I  Uved  again  through  the  past  few  months,  retalked 
whole  conversations,  and  thought  how  diiFerently  I  should 
have  spoken  and  acted  now,  in  many  cases.  Above  all,  with 
what  vividness  did  his  looks  and  words  return  !  How  all  my 
irrhability  and  little  vanities  faded  away  in  the  memory  of 
his  gracious  presence  !  He  was  far  above  me  ;  but  I  loved 
to  think  that  in  some  hereafter  time  —  perhaps  when  we 
were  both  old,  or  even  beyond  that  again  —  he  would  know 
that  there  were  moments  when  my  heart  had  beat  in  perfect 
sympathy  to  his  true  and  noble  woi'ds.  I  beheved  that  he 
did  not  know  me  now,  and  I  was  content  to  accept  it.  Our 
natures  were  widely  different. 

Unlike  arc  we,  unlike  O  princely  Heart ! 
Unlike  our  uses  and  our  destinies  ; 
Our  ministering  two  Angels  look  surprise 
On  one  another,  as  they  strike  athwart 
Their  wings  in  passing.* 

Perhaps  he  could  never  have  learnt  to  understand  one  so 
impulsive  and  inconsistent.  "  And  yet,"  whispered  ray  heart, 
«  could  he  have  known  — "  and  vainly  woman's  pride  recalled 
his  studied  coldness  —  his  careful  indifference.  Every  one 
can  struggle  successfully  against  the  outward  demonstration 
of  a  passion  ;  the  secret  image  in  its  shrine  of  shrines  is  not 
so  easily  displaced.  When  I  looked  into  my  heart,  I  Avas 
startled  to  find  this  image  there  —  immovable,  unbroken! 
Strange  to  say,  it  was  only  now,  when  all  was  past  and 
gone  —  forever,  perhaps  —  that  I  awakened  to  this  self- 
knowledge.  The  turmoil  of  a  crowd  of  feelings  had  swept 
by,  and  left  the  footprints  of  one  alone  upon  my  heart. 

*  E.  Barrett  Browning. 


AN   AUTOBIOGKAPHY.  176 

Concerning  the  enigmatical  Rawdon,  that  strange  com- 
pound of  good  and  evil,  I  was  now,  comparatively,  at  ease. 
I  received  a  letter  from  my  mother,  the  week  after  my  arri- 
val at  Grandregard,  Avhich  mentioned  his  being  sufficiently 
recovered  to  leave  Paris  for  some  German  baths.  Madame 
Galoffska,  it  is  supposed,  accompanied  him.  Lady  Grey- 
brook  had  also  left  Paris.  Ernest  had  come  home,  grown 
tall,  and  much  improved  mentally  as  physically ;  with  a 
prize  from  school,  and  a  good  character.  He  was  to  go  out 
to  India  in  six  weeks.  My  mother  said  little  of  herself,  and 
a  great  deal  of  Charles  Murray,  and  of  his  numberless  kind 
attentions ;  she  wrote,  altogether,  in  much  better  spirits  than 
I  could  have  hoped,  but  her  letter  contained  one  piece  of 
intelligence  which  grieved  me  much.  My  father  had  decreed 
that,  as  my  little  brothers  must  be  sent  to  school,  and  as 
Rose  was  now  of  an  age  "  to  have  done  with  lessons,"  Miss 
Lateward's  services  could  no  longer  be  retained ;  Lady 
Dacre  having  left  no  provision  for  her  salary.  The  loss  to 
us  all  would  be  irreparable,  I  knew ;  and  so  did  my  mother. 

"  I  told  your  father,"  she  wrote,  "  I  was  sure  you  would 
consider  part  of  your  annuity  well  employed  in  paying  Miss 
Latcward,  but  he  got  very  angry  at  the  idea,  and  said  there 
was  plenty  for  you  to  do  with  it ;  and,  in  shoi't,  he  saw  Miss 
Lateward,  and  told  her  that  we  could  not  keep  her  any 
longer :  and  the  boys  are  to  go  to  Brighton  on  the  15th,  and 
I  am  sure  I  don't  know  how  we  are  to  get  on  without  her. 
It  is  said  to  be  a  very  good  school.  Lord  Invercarty's  son 
is  there.  I  wish  we  could  hear  of  a  good  place  for  her  ;  but 
most  of  the  English  have  left,  and  then  she  has  no  accom- 
plishments, poor  dear ! " 

Miss  Latcward  herself  wrote  to  me  a  few  days  later,  and 
as  I  have  her  letter  still  by  me,  I  will  give  it.  For  many  a 
long  hour  in  the  quiet  moonlight,  after  I  had  blown  out  my 
candle  that  night,  I  sat  by  the  window,  pondering  over  part 
of  the  contents  of  that  letter. 


176  rita: 

'•'The  communication,  my  dear  Marguerite,  which  will 
have  been  made  to  you  by  Mrs.  Percival,  will  not  have  been 
unproductive  of  pain,  I  feel  confident.  Believe  me,  the  con- 
cern you  may  feel  at  the  dissolution  of  our  partnership  is 
fully  participated  in  by  myself.  Had  it  been  practicable,  I 
would  gladly  have  remained  a  few  months  longer,  upon  any 
terms ;  but  your  papa  gave  me  to  understand  that  my  ser- 
vices were  not  required.  Indeed,  your  sister,  whose  educa- 
tion, as  you  are  aware,  is  very  incomplete,  is  now  so  much 
occupied  between  attendance  on  your  mamma  and  the  recep- 
tion of  visitors,  that,  as  regards  her,  I  cannot  but  .feel  that 
the  withdrawal  of  those  services  is  wholly  unimportant. 
Your  young  brothers  are  about  to  be  promoted  to  a  higher 
arena  of  learning  than  our  humble  schoolroom.  For  educa- 
tional purposes,  therefore,  my  vocation  among  you  was  nearly 
at  an  end  (though  we  never  finished  the  'Thirty  Years' 
War,'  if  you  remember,  and  I  did  hope  to  have  gone  through 
the  '  "Wealth  of  Nations  '  with  you  this  summer)  ;  but  I  am 
principally  concerned  at  bidding  you  '  farewell,'  my  dear 
pupil,  when  I  recollect  that  in  many  little  difficulties,  from 
time  to  time,  you  have  applied  to  me  for  advice  —  advice 
always  cheerfully  tendered,  and  Avhich,  I  trust,  may  have 
been  of  service.  Bear  in  mind,  however,  that  in  Tabitha 
Lateward  you  have  a  sincere  friend,  who,  as  far  as  she  is 
able,  Avill  ever  give  you  her  best  counsel,  whether  present  or 
absent. 

"  You  will  be  pleased  to  hear  that  a  most  generous  offer 
has  been  made  me  by  a  friend  of  yours  —  an  offer  which,  in 
my  circumstances,  I  should  not  be  justified  in  declining.  The 
friend  to  whom  I  refer  is  lady  Janet  Oglevie  —  a  lady  evi- 
dently of  strong  judgment  and  a  benevolent  nature,  though 
lacking,  perhaps,  that  polish  of  manner  one  might  anticipate 
from  her  station.  I  was  taking  ambulatory  exercise  with 
your  brothers  when  I  first  encountered  her  ladyship.  She 
had  just  returned  to  Paris  from  Vichy,  and  said  she  was 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  177 

only  here  for  a  few  days,  on  her  road  to  England.  She 
recognized  me,  as  having  seen  me  vvalliing  with  you  ;  and 
accosted  me  with  an  inquiry  as  to  your  health.  This  led  to 
further  conversation.  She  appears  to  have  conceived  a  lively 
interest  in  you,  and  questioned  me  much  and  closely  ;  doing 
me  the  honor,  at  last,  to  desire  that  I  would  wait  upon  her. 
Since  then  I  have  had  several  interviews  with  her  ladyship, 
and  she  has  spoken  to  me,  with  great  candor,  as  to  all  the 
difficulties  of  your  jDosition.  Let  me  caution  you  seriously 
as  to  what  intimacies  you  form,  my  dear  Marguei'ite.  I 
saw  that  her  ladyship  thought  you  rash  in  this  respect :  yet 
she  was  inclined  to  believe  all  I  said  of  your  excellent  dispo- 
sition, and  is,  I  believe,  sincerely  your  friend.  In  the  course 
of  my  visit,  I  mentioned  that  circumstances  had  unfortunately 
arisen  which  necessitated  our  parting.  It  was  then  her 
ladyship  kindly  said  she  knew  of  a  situation  which  she 
thought  would  suit  me  —  the  care  of  a  young  lady,  the 
daughter  of  a  friend  of  her  ladyship's,  in  England.  The 
name  is  Rochford.  There  is  only  a  mother  and  this  daugh- 
ter, besides  the  son,  who  is  the  head  of  the  family.  They 
live  in  a  very  retired  district  in  one  of  the  northern  counties. 
As  Mrs.  Rochford  is  (most  justly)  very  particular  in  the 
choice  of  the  person  who  is  to  superintend  her  daughter's 
education,  and  will  engage  no  one  without  a  personal  inter- 
view. Lady  Janet  has  most  generously  offered  to  take  me  to 
England  as  her  companion,  in  which  capacity  I  am  to  accom- 
pany her  on  a  visit  to  Rochford  Court.  The  arrangement  is 
a  highly  satisfactory  one  for  both  parties.  I  cannot  suffi- 
ciently express  my  sense  of  her  ladyship's  great  kindness 
to  a  stranger  as  I  am ;  but  any  expression  of  it  annoys  her, 
for  she  is  peculiar  —  and  who  are  without  their  idiosyncra- 
sies ?  It  was  arranged  yesterday  that  I  am  to  leave  Paris 
with  her  ladyship  in  the  course  of  a  few  days ;  conse- 
quently, I  grieve  to  say,  my  dear  Marguerite,  we  shall  not 
meet  again ;  for  I  apprehend  that  you  will  yet  be  some 

12 


178  RITA: 

weeks  longer  a  guest  of  the  gallant  general's.  "With  the 
expression  of  my  esteem  and  regard,  and  in  the  hope  of 
hearing  very  often  from  you, 

"  Believe  me, 

"  Ever  to  remain, 

"  Your  sincere  friend, 

"  Tabitha  Lateward." 

How  strange  the  coincidence  appeared  to  me  tliat  my  old 
governess  should  leave  us  to  become  Hubert  Kochford's 
guest  —  to  live  in  the  same  house  with  him  day  after  day  — 
to  learn  the  hourly  routine  of  his  life  —  to  see  him  in  sun- 
shine and  in  shade !  It  seemed  to  me  impossible.  I  read 
the  name  over  and  over  again  wherever  it  occurred,  to  be 
sure  I  had  not  mistaken  it.  There  was  no  mistaking  Bliss 
Lateward's  hand :  it  was  upright,  hard,  and  honestly  clear  as 
was  her  character.  Might  it  not  be  some  other  branch  of 
the  same  family  ?  That  was  hardly  likely.  I  remembered 
Eochford's  having  spoken  of  his  young  sister :  I  knew  that 
his  father  was  long  since  dead,  and  that  the  mother  lived 
with  her  son.  Still,  I  could  hardly  realize  to  myself  that 
here  was  a  link,  established  between  us  —  that  I  should  oc- 
casionally hear  of  him  —  and  that,  if  he  were  so  minded,  he 
might  also  hear  of  me.  I  felt  strangely  elated.  It  was  the 
fir^t  ray  of  sunshine  that  had  visited  me  for  weeks ;  and  I 
caught  myself  in  the  glass,  smiling  out  on  the  bright  sun-cas- 
tles I  was  building  from  it. 

The  days  slipped  by  more  fleetly  after  this.  An  incident, 
which  I  shall  presently  relate,  was  one  of  the  very  few,  dur- 
ing my  stay  at  Grandregard,  that  broke  the  monotony  of 
moi'ning  visits  from  the  Abbe,  with  an  occasional  one  after 
dinner  from  the  doctor,  or  some  old  military  gentleman  in 
the  neighborhood.  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  the  great 
ladies  of  T —  (for  tliey  ivere  great,  I  presume)  did  not 
affect  Madame  Gobemouche.     She  viewed  them  with  great 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  179 

scorn,  and  tossed  her  ostrich  plumes  defiantly  whenever  we 
passed  them  in  the  cai-riage.  Whether  the  occupants  recip- 
rocated these  bitter  feehngs,  I  have,  of  course,  no  means  of 
judging  ;  but  they  never  called,  or  otherwise  took  cognizance 
of  the  inhabitants  of  Grandregard. 

After  dinner  there  was  always  a  game  of  piquet.  It  was 
madame's  favorite  amusement,  and  the  general,  like  a  noble 
old  soldier  as  he  was,  devoted  himself  to  it,  Avithout  having 
a  natural  gift,  or  the  smallest  inclination,  that  Avay ;  and  as, 
when  he  was  not  on  the  field  of  Austerlitz,  he  often  took  a 
siesta  at  odd  hours  in  the  day,  it  sometimes  happened  that 
the  unlucky  habit  overtook  him  in  the  middle  of  a  game. 
Now,  nothing  made  madame  so  irritable  as  this ;  and  with 
a  view  to  soothing  her,  as  well  as  to  enabling  the  general 
to  snore  in  peace,  I  humbly  offered  "  to  try  and  learn  "  the 
game,  if  she  would  teach  me.  The  offer  was  accepted,  and 
proved  a  master-stroke  of  policy.  Madame  believed  that 
she  was  conferring  a  lasting  benefit  on  me,  and  was  in  the 
very  best  humor,  as  people  always  are  who  think  they  do  a 
magnanimous  action.  Whenever  I  played  a  WTong  card  — 
and  I  must  confess  that  my  wandering  thoughts  made  this 
too  often  the  case  —  Madame  pointed  it  out  with  a  mild 
reproof;  and  tlie  general  drowsed  on,  undisturbed  in  his 
chair,  with  the  yellow  bandanna  handkerchief  over  his  face. 
Sometimes  I  read  the  feuilleton  of  the  Patrie  aloud ;  or  nar- 
rated, with  such  amplifications  and  alterations  as  my  imagi- 
nation suggested,  any  story  that  I  thought  likely  to  suit  tlie 
taste  of  my  auditors  —  moving  incidents  by  flood  and  field 
—  and  if  with  Macbeth  they  "supped  full  of  horrors,"  the 
better  they  were  pleased.  In  the  morning,  I  sometimes 
helped  madame  in  making  strawbei'ry  preserve,  or  in  pre- 
paring sundry  creams  (for  both  of  Avhich  she  conceived  she 
had  a  special  vocation),  and  we  afterwards  occasionally  drove 
out  in  the  old  yellow  carriage,  —  a  state  observance  I  par- 
ticularly disliked.     In  short,  I  tried  to  make  myself  as  use- 


180  RITA: 

fill  and  pleasant  as  I  could  to  the  old  couple,  and  in  this 
"vvay  forgot  many  of  my  own  troubles- 
One  June  morning  I  was  returning  from  the  garden  for 
our  noonday  breakfast,  when,  passing  about  a  hundred  yards 
from  the  gate,  I  saw  the  Abbe  run  in,  with  a  somewhat 
perturbed  face.  On  perceiving  me,  he  trotted  across  the 
grass. 

"  Dear  mademoiselle,  there  is  a  lady  outside  there,  who 
is  ill  —  an  English  lady,  I  think.  Will  you  let  me  have 
a  chair  and  a  glass  of  water  ?  —  a  little  Jleur  d'' orange, 
perhaps  ?  " 

I  told  the  Abbe  to  run  and  fetch  some,  while  I  begged  the 
lady  to  come  in.  I  found  her  just  outside  the  gate,  leaning 
on  the  arm  of  a  little  old  gentleman,  and  looking  very  faint. 
With  his  assistance,  I  got  her  to  a  bench  under  some  trees 
in  the  garden.  She  was  middle-aged,  rather  plain,  and 
scrupulously  neat ;  such  a  person  as  you  may  meet  any  day 
in  an  Enghsh  country  neighborhood.  Her  bonnet  itself  said 
as  much  as  a  bonnet  can  about  its  wearer :  the  straw,  clean- 
liness ;  the  form,  modest  retirement ;  the  strings  and  cur- 
tain, not  the  "  pink  "  but  the  dust-color  "  of  propriety."  The 
face  under  it  was  sensible,  kind,  but  somewhat  obstinate. 
The  little  old  gentleman  wore  a  buff  waistcoat,  such  as  I 
remembered  to  have  seen  on  Lord  Russborough  in  my  child- 
hood, and  brown  gaiters.  He  called  the  lady  "my  love," 
and  was  so  nervously  solicitous  about  her,  that  I  made  up 
my  mind  they  were  a  long  married  couple,  without  children 
—  a  sort  of  refined  British  edition  of  my  host  and  hostess. 
They  contradicted  each  other,  too,  in  the  most  affectionately 
positive  manner,  which  confiraied  me  in  this  opinion,  at 
■which  I  arrived  (always  forming  mine  hastily),  while  the 
usual  process  of  bathing  the  face,  untying  the  bonnet-strings, 
etc.,  was  gone  through. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  lady,  with  a  faint  smile,  looking  up 
at  me.     "  I  feel  so  much  better.     I  am  sure  we  cannot  suffi- 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  181 

ciently  tliank  tliis  young  lady  for  her  kindness,  can  we,  my 
dear  ?     The  fact  is,  the  heat  —  " 

"  No,  my  love,  the  hill.  I  told  you  so.  I  begged  you  not, 
if  you  remember.     I  was  afraid  of  your  walking,  and  —  " 

"My  dear,  you  know  Dr.  Robei'ts  ordered  me  to  walk. 
He  did,  indeed.  I  feel  so  much  better  now,  I  can  walk 
back,  quite  well"  (in  a  very  weak  voice). 

"  Stuff  and  nonsense,  my  dear !  —  more  than  a  mile  back 
to  the  inn." 

"A  mile?  "Why,  I'm  sure,  love,  it  isn't  further  than 
from  the  Hall  down  to  the  school,  where  you  know  I  walked 
every  day." 

"  And  much  good  you  did  yourself,  my  dear !  If  this 
lady  will  kindly  allow  you  to  remain  here,  I  wiU  run  down 
and  get  a  carriage,  and  shall  be  back  here  in  a  quarter  of 
an  hour." 

Much  expostulation  followed,  in  which  I  thought  myself 
called  on  to  side  with  the  stronger  party ;  and  iinally,  the 
lady  was  persuaded  to  sit  still  until  a  carriage  should  be 
brought.  When  I  was  left  alone  with  her  —  for  I  had 
begged  the  Abbe  to  go  and  apprise  Madame  Gobemouche 
of  my  detention  —  our  conversation  was  confined  at  first  to 
a  few  common-place  words  of  kindness  on  both  sides  ;  then, 
from  remarks,  we  got  to  questions. 

"  I  think  I  understood  you  were  at  an  inn  ?  Travelling, 
I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes.  "We  have  only  been  a  day  in  T — .  "We  are  going 
on  this  afternoon." 

"  You  will  not  think  of  travelling  to-day,  will  you  ?  Had 
you  not  better  rest  ?  " 

"  Oh  dear,  no.  I  want  to  get  on  as  fast  as  I  can.  It  is  so 
very  tiresome  for  John.  "We  are  going  on  to  the  Pyrenees. 
Have  you  ever  been  there  ?  " 

"  No,  never.  I  know  nothing  of  the  pleasures  of  travel- 
ling." 


182  rita: 

"  As  to  pleasure,  we  should  never  have  left  our  own  dear 
home  for  that.  My  health,  unfortunately,  is  the  cause  of  our 
coming  abroad.  Dr.  Roberts  wished  me  to  have  spent  last 
winter  at  Nice,  but  I  was  so  unwilUng  to  leave  home.  You 
don't  know,  perhaps,"  she  added,  with  a  smile,  "  how  hard  it 
is  to  leave  a  place  you  are  very  fond  of?  Those  who  live 
abroad  can't  feel  the  same  thing." 

"I  think  not:  but  is  this  the  first  time  you  have  been 
abroad  ?  " 

"Yes;  and  I  hope  it  will  be  the  last.  Dr.  Roberts 
thought  if  I  were '  to  spend  a  year  in  a  warm  climate,  I 
should  return  quite  restored." 

"  Do  you  dislike  it,  then,  so  very  much  ?  " 

"  Oh !  it 's  very  well,  only  the  people  seem  to  me  so  dirty, 
and  such  odd  habits  —  never  dressed  of  a  morning  —  all  the 
women  in  curl-papers  and  slipshod,  which  to  our  English 
ideas — " 

At  this  moment,  the  vision  of  madame  in  a  green  dress- 
ing-gown, with  the  very  curl-papers  in  question,  surmounted 
by  one  of  the  general's  yellow  bandannas,  appeared,  much  to 
my  confusion,  at  the  diniug-room  window.  I  had  even 
some  fears  as  to  what  effect  this  spectacle  might  produce  on 
the  weak  nerves  of  the  stranger;  especially  so,  when 
madame,  apparently  with  the  intention  of  joining  us,  ad- 
vanced one  tapestried  slipper,  down  at  heel,  over  the 
window-sill,  upon  the  terrace.  She  thought  better  of  it, 
however ;  and  —  discouraged  by  the  tres  Britannique  air  of 
the  lady,  I  believe  —  retired,  leaving  us  undisturbed. 

With  the  tact  of  a  true  gentlewoman,  my  companion 
made  no  remark  on  this  apjiarition ;  she  could  not,  however, 
repress  an  indirect  question,  which  showed  her  curiosity 
concerning  the  establishment.  Looking  round  the  garden, 
she  said, 

"  What  beautiful  roses !  It  reminds  me  of  my  own  dear 
garden  —  they  must  be  just  coming  into  bloom  now.  Do 
you  take  much  interest  in  your  flowers  ?  " 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  183 

"  I  am  only  on  a  visit  here.  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  live  in 
a  town,  and  have  never  had  a  garden  ;  but  perhaps  it  makes 
on^'prize  it  the  more.  Cockneys  are  said  to  be  the  truest 
lovers  of  the  country,  and  I  believe  it." 

"  No,"  said  the  lady,  positively,  "  that  is  certainly  not 
true.  How  can  they  have  all  the  varied  interests  we  have  — 
with  our  farms,  and  dur  schools,  and  our  poor  people  —  not 
to  speak  of  watching  the  growth  of  every  thing  from  month 
to  month  ?     They  can  have  none  of  these  pleasures." 

"  Oh,  of  course  ;  I  only  spoke  of  the  delight  we  town-bred 
feel  at  getting  into  the  country,  and  breathing  pure  air  — 
and  all  the  sights  and  sounds  of  the  country,  which  are  so 
new  to  us.     If  I  were  a  man  —  " 

"  All !  for  a  man  accustomed  to  an  active  life  in  the 
country,  a  life  in  towns  is  killing.  John  always  has  a  fit  of 
the  gout  when  he  has  been  in  London  a  week.  You  may 
fancy,  therefore,  what  a  sacrifice  it  is  to  him  coming  abroad 
with  me,  and  leading  this  stupid  life  —  but  he  is  the  best  of 
brothers  —  " 

"  Brother  ?  " 

"  And  pretends  he  likes  it.  I  resisted  his  coming  as  long 
as  I  could,  but  it  was  no  use ;  and,  as  I  say,  hoto  is  the 
country  to  get  on  in  his  absence  ?  There  are  his  magisterial 
duties  (such  a  head  —  you've  no  idea  —  so  clear),  and  his 
farming  (so  very  practical),  and  his  general  influence  in  the 
parish  (no  one  such  influence  as  he)  —  really  it  is  terrible 
to  think  how  his  loss  will  be  felt  ! " 

A  carriage  drove  up,  and  this  great  public  character 
jumped  out,  hurried  up  to  us,  and  thanked  me  agfyn  for  my 
attention  to  his  sister.  I  had  so  persuaded  myself  that  he 
was  her  husband,  it  seemed  quite  unnatural  to  find  he  was 
only  her  brother.  There  was  no  plea  for  their  remaining 
longer,  and  the  lady  rose. 

"  Our  acquaintance  had  progressed  so  rapidly  in  half  an 
hour,"  said  sue,  "  that  I  feel  as  if  we  were  old  friends.     I 


184  kita:  an  autobiography. 

must  tell  you  our  name  —  it  is  Bissett.  "Will  you  let  us 
know  by  what  name  we  may  recall  our  kind  young  friend 
atT  — ?" 

"  My  name  is  Marguerite  Percival." 

"  Percival  ?  "Was  n't  that  the  name  of  the  people,  brother, 
who  took  Cloud  Castle  last  year  ?  " 

"  Pooh !  my  love ;  nothing  at  all  like  it.     It  began  with 

a  B." 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  I  'm  confident  it  began  with  a  P.  If  it 
was  n't  Percival,  it  was  something  very  like  it ;  —  not  that  it 
much  signifies.  The  name  now,  at  all  events,  my  dear  Miss 
Percival,  we  shall  not  forget." 

And  so  Miss  Bissett  and  I  shook  hands,  and  mutually  ex- 
pressed a  hope  that  we  might,  soiiie  day,  meet  again :  — 
which  I  thought  very  unlikely. 

The  following  morning  the  Abbe  had  every  particular  by 
heart  of  the  rich  old  English  traveller  at  the  Lion  d'Or ; 
how  the  Bissett  arms  —  to  wit,  a  squirrel  rampant  —  were 
emblazoned  on  the  panel  of  the  dark-green  chariot ;  how  the 
interior  of  the  carriage  was  filled  with  air-cushions,  medi- 
cine-chests, and  Murray's  Handbooks;  how  two  servants 
reclined  in  great  state  in  the  rumble  of  the  same ;  and  how, 
on  leaving,  the  gentleman  had  deemed  fit  to  harangue  the 
landlady,  in  very  tortuous  French,  upon  the  softness  of  the 
beds,  the  smallness  of  the  basins,  and  the  dearness  of 
the  bill. 

It  served  for  a  morning's  gossip,  and  was  then  forgotten. 


CHAPTEE  XVL 

A  FEW  days  later  I'received  some  most  unexpected  news 
from  my  mother,  which  obhged  me  to  return  to  Paris.  Her 
letter  ran  as  follows  : 

"My  deak  Child,  —  I  have  only  time  for  a  few  lines 
to-day,  but  cannot  let  the  post  go  out  without  letting  you 
know  the  happy  news !  I  am  in  such  a  flutter  I  can  hardly 
write  !  I  dare  say  you  guess  what  it  is.  I  dare  say  you  saw 
it  all  along.  I  never  mentioned  the  subject  to  you,  or  in  my 
letters,  for  fear  it  was  a  delusion ;  but  I  thought  I  saw  it 
from  the  beginning.  Do  you  remember  the  day  he  first 
called  ?  Since  you  left,  he  has  been  here  ei^'ery  day,  and  this 
morning  he  has  HQinalXY  proposed  in  due  form.  Tiiink  of 
little  Rose  as  Mrs.  Charles  Murray !  Only  seventeen ! 
She  really  fancies  herself  desperately  in  love  with  him,  even 
if  he  had  not  a  farthing,  instead  of  such  magnificent  pros- 
pects !  Fancy  how  delighted  your  father  is!  He  wrote  — 
I  mean  Charles  Murray  —  to  his  father,  and  obtained  his 
consent  before  he  proposed,  which  is  very  gratifying  and 
satisfactory.  They  are  gone  out  together.  She  looks  so 
beautiful  in  her  half-mourning  (I  got  her  a  white  bonnet 
last  week,  for  her  black  was  getting  so  shabby).  I  don't 
wonder  at  his  falling  in  love  with  her.  Do  you  know,  he 
says  he  was  always  rather  afraid  of  you  !  Ah  !  my  darling, 
nothing  men  are  so  afraid  of  as  a  clever  wife  —  but  only 
think,  after  all,  of  your  not  being  the  first!     I  hope  the 

(185) 


186  RITA : 

country  air  lias  brought  back  the  roses  to  your  cheeks.  The 
dear  boys  went  to  school  yesterday  ;  it  was  a  sad  parting  for 
me,  for  I  could  not  help  feeling  "  —  (here  followed  some- 
thing that  had  been  blotted  out) — "but  this  has  put  me 
into  such  good  spirits  to-day,  I  am  quite  another  person. 
Ernest  remains  with  us  until  after  the  wedding  (which  is  to 
take  place  as  soon  as  possible)  ;  then  your  father  will  go 
with  him  to  England,  and  see  him  on  board  his  ship  for 
India  —  poor  dear  fellow  !  You  must  come  back  at  once, 
dear.  I  have  quantities  for  you  to  d'o.  Now  that  our  good 
Lateward  is  gone,  I  have  no  one,  you  know,  for  Rose  is  so 
much  occupied,  going  about  with  him.  Heaven  bless  you, 
my  darling ! 

"  Ever  your  affectionate  mother, 

«  C.  P." 

In  spite  of  my  mother's  assumption  that  I  was  fully  pre- 
pared for  the  intelligence  her  letter  contained,  it  w^as  a  great 
surprise.  —  I  had  almost  written  shoch.  I  was  glad  :  I  was 
very  glad,  of  course.  But  what  a  child  she  was  !  At  least 
I  had  been  accustomed  to  consider  and  treat  her  as  such, 
until  quite  lately :  and  even  then,  w\as  so  completely  and 
selfishly  engrossed,  that  whenever  the  image  of  my  sister 
crossed  my  thoughts,  it  was  only  as  a  gleam  of  sunshine  in 
the  home-picture  —  a  morning  gleam,  as  yet  far  removed 
from  the  glare  and  heat  of  mid-day  passions.  She  had  not 
made  a  confidante  of  me  —  she  had  never  poured  into  my 
ear  the  secret  tale  of  fluttering  hopes  and  fears ;  and  I  had 
no  right  to  expect  it.  It  was  very  natural :  my  mother  had, 
in  fact,  been  more  of  a  sister  to  her.  And  yet  I  was  very 
fond  of  Eose,  though  there  was  so  little  sympathy  between 
us ;  but  when  I  thought  of  what  this  last  year  had  been  to 
me,  I  felt  inexpressibly  thankful  she  should  be  spared  all 
that  I  had  gone  through,  and  be  safely  havened  from  all 
future  storms  by  the  quiet  hearthstone  of  an  English  home. 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  187 

True,  I  knew  little  of  Charles  Murray,  but  all  the  man  was 
written  in  such  clear,  open  characters,  that  whatever  might 
be  thought  of  his  mental  powers,  his  candor  and  true  heart 
it  Avas  impossible  to  doubt. 

I  began  folding  up  my  dresses  and  laying  them  in  my 
trunk.  My  kind  old  friends  received  the  announcement 
that  I  must  leave  them  with  loud  regrets.  Notwithstanding 
the  wide  disparity  of  our  years,  and  the  wider  disparity  of 
our  tastes  and  feelings,  they  were  friends ;  I  could  not 
leave  them  without  the  sorrowful  reflection  that  I  had  few 
just  now,  and  these  I  might  not  see  again  for  years !  We 
all  three  mingled  our  tears  over  an  early  breakfast  the 
following  morning,  and  I  was  publicly  embraced  outside  the 
gilt  gates  by  both  the  general  and  madame,  in  the  face  of 
the  crowded  diligence ;  after  which,  being  given  over,  with 
many  injunctions,  to  the  care  of  a  steady  old  shopkeeper, 
Paris-bound,  I  was  stuffed  into  the  bowels  of  the  interieur, 
with  a  large  bunch  of  flowers  on  my  knee,  which,  soon 
fading,  left  the  tine  aroma  of  ham-sandwiches  in  my  bag 
predominant.  I  had  rather  a  pleasant  journey,  as  my  old 
gentleman  was  obliging  enough  to  drop  asleep,  and  leave 
me  in  undisturbed  possession  of  my  own  thoughts,  during 
the  greater  part  of  the  way.  The  only  other  occupant  of 
this  portion  of  the  diligence  was  a  young  priest,  who  shrank 
into  his  corner  upon  my  entering,  and  appeared  to  think 
there  was  contamination  in  my  aspect,  so  studiously  did  he 
avoid  me,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  his  breviary.  I  looked  out  of 
window,  for  my  part ;  and  found  much  interest  and  amuse- 
ment in  watching  the  haymakers  in  the  fields,  as  we  passed, 
and  in  studying  character  at  inn  doors,  when  we  stopped  to 
change  horses.  It  was  my  first  journey  alone.  I  felt  very 
independent,  and  thought  how  I  should  like  to  be  travelling 
in  an  English  stage-coach  (which  I  knew  by  sight  from  a 
colored  print  in  my  father's  room  of  one  driving  down  a  hill 
in   a   great   cloud   of  dust).     This   stage-coach   should  be 


188  RITA : 

bound  for  the  north  of  England  —  where,  I  was  not  exactly 
clear ;  but  a  certain  face  should  be  at  the  window  when  we 
stopped,  waiting  there  to  meet  me 

Instead  of  which  (foolish  diligence-dream !)  comes  the 
handsome  face  of  my  father,  when  we  drive  into  the  Mes- 
sageries'  courtyard  in  Paris ;  not  without  a  cloud  upon  it, 
though,  for  we  are  half  an  hour  behind  our  time,  and  he 
expresses  his  disgust  in  very  forcible  language  at  having 
had  to  wait  so  long. 

Beside  him  stands  a  tall  fair  young  man,  who  bows 
distantly,  but  whose  bold  laughing  eyes  I  recognize  at  once, 
and  throw  my  arms  round  his  neck. 

"  Why,  Ernest,  what  a  giant  you  are  grown !  How  long 
is  it  since  we  have  seen  you  ?  It  must  be  surely,  more  than 
two  years  ?  " 

"  Just  two.  Queen  of  Tarts,  since  we  had  our  last  quaiTcl." 

"  Last  holidays  I  spent  at  Dacre.  And  now,  may  it  please 
your  Majesty,  is  there  to  be  peace  or  war  between  us  ?  " 

"  Oh,  peace  by  all  means,  since  you  are  only  a  visitor  in 
my  dominions  —  and  your  size,  too,  rather  alarms  me. 
You're  very  much  improved  in  appearance ;  I  hope  equally 
so  in  other  ways." 

"  Thank  you :  ditto  to  you.  'Pon  my  soul !  you  're  a 
devilish  sight  better  looking  than  1  expected.  What  one 
may  almost  call  a  '  fine-looking  girl.' " 

"  Yes,  grown  fat,  I  see,  and  actually  got  some  color  in 
your  cheeks,"  said  my  father  ;  then  jocosely  added,  as  we  all 
three  walked  away  together,  leaving  my  trunk  to  follow 
with  a  porter,  "  Well,  the  filly 's  cut  you  out,  Rita :  won  in  a 
canter,  yt)u  see  !  You  've  got  to  wear  the  yellow  shoes,  and 
all  your  own  fault.  Lady  Greybrook  told  me." 

"  There,  father,  Ave  will  not  talk  about  that.  Dear  Rose's 
marriage  ought  to  satisfy  you  for  a  long  time  to  come.  I'm 
so  glad.  He  just  seems  made  for  her.  If  I  am  any  judge 
of  physiognomy,  he  has  a  fine  disposition  —  frank  and  free." 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  189 

"  It  is  more  than  his  father  has,  then,  if  by  '  free '  you 
mean  liberal.  Sir  Charles  isn't  so  in  purse,  any  more  than 
poiitips." 

"  I  am  a  friend  to  conservative  principles,"  said  I,  dryly. 

"He  gives  Charles  a  most  paltry  allowance,  considering 
his  fortune  ;  and  the  settlement  he  makes  on  Rose  would  be 
mean  for  his  own  steward.  However,  one  must  n't  quarrel 
with  one's  bread  and  butter,  I  suppose,  and  the  entail  is  a 
clear  eight  thousand  a  year." 

/'  How  do  you  like  our  new  brother,  Ernest  ?  " 

"  Oh,  a  capital  fellow ;  given  me  such  a  splendid  gun  to 
take  out  to  India.  Tiger-shooting,  I  suppose,  is  the  only 
thing  to  be  done  in  that  cursed  country." 

"  I  should  think  there  was  a  good  deal  else  to  be  done,  if 
you  looked  about  you.  But  don't  you  like  the  idea  of 
going  out  ?  " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  As  the  governor  said  just  now,  one  mustn't  quarrel  with 
one's  own  bread  and  butter." 

"  I  hope  you  've  been  getting  on  with  your  Hindostanee  ?  " 

"  I  've  worked  at  it  —  I  have,  indeed  —  but  it  '3  so 
deuced  hai'd." 

"  Well,  I  hope  you  've  learnt  something  at  school  besides 
swearing  ?  " 

"  Meaning  that  I  could  have  done  that  at  home,  eh  ?  "  he 
whispered,  laughing,  as  my  father  stopped  to  speak  to  some 
one.  "  I  say,  the  governor's  hard  up,  again,  Rita.  He 
asked  Charlie  IMurray  to  lend  him  a  hundred  this  morning, 
and  Charlie  told  him  he  hadn't  a  hundred  at  his  banker's. 
That's  why  he's  so  savage  about  it.  CharUe's  very  wide 
awake  about  money." 

I  sighed,  and  walked  on  in  silence.  Here  was  this  boy, 
already  ruse  in  the  world's  ways  —  all  the  freshness,  the 
delightful  gullibility  of  youth  gone  !  You  would  n't  "  catch 
him  napping,"  as  he  informed  me ;  and  I  believed  him.    But 


190  RITA : 

I  felt  the  sooner  he  went  out  to  India,  and  away  from  my 
father's  mfluence,  the  better. 

I  was  shocked  to  find  how  ill  my  mother  was  looking. 
The  brilliant  spirit  she  was  in  could  not  conceal  the  ravages 
of  illness.  But  she  spoke  more  cheeringly  of  herself  and  I 
was  too  willing  to  believe  that  the  worn  face  was  only  the 
result  of  some  sleepless  nights,  following  days  of  excitement. 
Those  that  followed  my  return  were  busy  and  uneventful, 
except  for  the  two  persons  on  whom  all  thoughts  were  now 
centred,  and  for  whom  each  hour,  now,  brought  felicitations 
and  marriage-gifts  —  plans  for  the  future,  openly  or  secretly 
discussed  —  tete-a-tete  walks  in  the  shady  alleys  of  the 
Tuileries.  No  two  lovers  ever  looked  more  radiant  and 
happy  than  they. 

My  brother  often  took  me  out  walking  of  an  evening,  and 
we  became  great  friends.  With  all  his  faults  —  and  he  had 
still  plenty  —  there  was  something  to  me  very  attractive 
about  him ;  and  he  returned  the  compliment  so  far  as  to  re- 
ceive that  cheapest  of  all  presents  —  advice,  at  ray  hands. 

"  Mother,"  I  said  one  day,  when  the  important  question 
of  Rose's  trousseau  was  being  discussed,  "  if  you  have  no  ob- 
jection, I  should  like  to  give  some  of  the  fine  linen  to  Marie 
Dumont  to  do.  Ernest  would  take  me  there.  Have  you 
heard  any  thing  of  her  lately  ?  " 

"  I  believe  Miss  Lateward  saw  her,  but  I  forget.  I  know 
there  was  something  about  Lady  Janet's  having  been  very 
kind  to  her,  but  really  it  has  all  gone  out  of  my  head." 

That  evening  my  brother  and  I  walked  down  the  narrow 
alley  where  Marie  lived.  Ernest  was  indignant  at  my  bring- 
ing him  to  such  a  place,  and  disgusted  at  the  cabbage-stalks 
and  bones  on  the  door-steps,  and  other  less  savory  odors. 
We  mounted  four  pair  of  dirty  stairs,  my  brother  growling 
all  the  way  up,  like  a  fine  young  mastiff-gentleman  of  six- 
teen as  he  was.  I  knocked,  and  Marie  opened  the  door 
herself     She  gave  a  cry  of  delight,  seized  my  hands,  kissed 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  191 

them,  and  began,  with  French  volubility,  pouring  forth  her 
gratitude  for  the  visit,  when  she  caught  my  brother's  face 
behind  my  shoulder.     She  started  and  turned  pale. 

"  Who  is  that  ?  —  who  is  that  with  you  ?  "     Her   gaze 
seemed  fascinated. 

« My  brother.     Why?" 

"  Strange ! "  she  muttered,  as  she  drew  me  in,  and  pre- 
sented me  a  chair.  "  Pardon,  monsieur,  walk  in,  pray." 
From  time  to  time  during  our  visit  she  glanced  uneasily 
and  furtively  at  him,  but  generally  seemed  to  avoid  looking 
that  way,  as  though  it  distracted  her  attention  from  what 
she  was  saying.  And  she  had  a  great  deal  to  say  about  the 
English  lady  who  had  been  so  kind  to  her  in  consequence  of 
that  excellent  young  gentleman's  recommendation ;  how  she 
had  given  her  large  commissions  of  work,  and  had  put  her 
boy  to  a  day-school,  and  had  even  asked  her  how  she  should 
like  to  go  to  England,  and  said  she  could  get  her  plenty  of 
employment  there  in  teaching  hroderie  and  French  —  for  (I 
forget  if  I  have  before  mentioned  that)  Marie's  French  was 
particularly  pure  and  good.  That  good  lady  had  left  her 
some  work,  and  had  promised  Marie  should  hear  from  her 
further  in  England. 

"  I  am  glad  to  find  you  have  been  doing  so  well,  Marie. 
And  how  is  the  child?     I  suppose  he  is  at  his  day-school?" 

She  dragged  him  forwards  from  bqjiind  a  chair,  where  he 
was  playing  with  a  kitten  —  a  noble-looking  boy,  with 
bright,  glossy  hair,  and  the  rosy  hue  of  health  on  his  well- 
washed  cheeks.  But  suddenly,  as  I  looked  at  him,  I  caught 
an  expression  in  his  eyes  that  had  never  struck  me  before, 
so  like  —  No,  no  ;  that  was  imagination  —  but  it  made  me 
shiver. 

"  Is  he  good  ?     Does  he  give  you  no  trouble  ?  " 

"  S'il  est  sage  ?  Oh !  c'est  un  ange ! "  and  she  impressed 
a  resonant  kiss  on  his  head.  "  Tenez,  si  le  bon  Dieu  en  a 
beaucoup  comrae  lui,  il  doit  etre  content ! " 


192  riia: 

"  Have  you  time  to  do  any  more  work,  Marie,  or  are  your 
hands  full  ?  My  sister  is  to  be  married  in  three  weeks,  and 
these  collars  and  chemisettes  must  be  finished  before  that 
time,  if  you  undertake  them.  Perhaps  Lady  Janet's  work 
has  to  be  done  also  by  a  certain  time ;  if  so  —  " 

"  Ca  ne  presse  pas.  Vous  pouvez  compter  sur  moi,  made- 
moiselle." And  she  took  them  with  a  confident  smile,  prom- 
ising to  bring  the  work  home,  as  I  should  be  too  busy  to 
send  or  come  again. 

The  next  fortnight  was  a  very  busy  one.  I  had  no  time 
to  think  of  Marie  ;  for  every  arrangement  devolved  ijpon 
me,  and,  to  add  to  the  bustle,  a  few  days  before  the  wedding 
Sir  Charles  Murray  arrived.  He  was  a  fine  old  constitu- 
tional gentleman,  with  the  old  constitutional  blue  coat  and 
gilt  buttons,  and  the  constitutional  touch  of  gout  every  year ; 
with  a  rheumy  eye,  a  cheek  like  a  winter-apple,  and  a  hearty 
voice.  He  had  not  been  in  Paris  for  five-and-twenty  years, 
from  which  epoch  he  dated  every  event.  "  When  I  was  in 
Paris  at  the  time  of  the  Peace,"  etc. ;  or,  "  I  remember  so 
and  so,  for  it  was  not  very  long  after  I  returned  from  Paris, 
at  the  time  of  the  Peace,"  etc.  t 

He  and  my  mother  talked  a  good  deal  over  past  days,  and 
he  secretly  confided  to  me  that,  beautiful  as  he  found  his  fu- 
ture daughter-in-law,  she  was  not  equal  to  her  mother,  as  he 
remembered  her,  in  the  days  when  she  was  the  toast  of  the 
county. 

"  I  was  very  sweet  upon  her  in  those  days,  but  I  was  a 
younger  son  —  though  a  good  bit  older  than  her  —  and  a 
poor  country  squire  would  n't  ha'  done  for  her.  Jove  !  she 
used  to  make  us  young  fellows  mad,  when  she  came  to  our 
county  assemblies,  and  danced  all  night  with  fine  London 
sparks  —  guardsmen,  and  lords,  and  so  on  —  and  would  n't 
look  at  us.  How  time  does  fiy.  Miss  Margaret !  It 's  near 
thirty  years  ago  ;  for,  after  that,  I  came  over  here  with  my 
father  —  at  the  time  of  the  Peace  —  and  then  poor  Jack,  my 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  193 

eldest  brother,  died,  and  in  course  of  time  I  married,  and 
have  never  seen  your  mother  since." 

**  (iHiarlie's,  then,  is  a  sort  of  inherited  admiration?  —  the 
sins  of  the  fathers  visited  on  the  children  !  No  Avonder  at  his 
falling  in  love  at  first  sight,  as  he  says  he  did.  It  really 
was  n't  fair.     The  infatuation  was  in  his  blood,  poor  fellow  ! " 

Sir  Charles  chuckled. 

"  Lord  bless  you  !  they  're  a  cold  set  of  young  dogs  now  — 
a  different  sort  to  what  they  were  in  my  day.  Look  at 
Charlie,  there,  sitting  as  demure  by  the  side  of  his  sweet- 
heart as  if  she  were  an  old  'oman  o'  seventy  !  /shouldn't 
ha'  sat  so  when  1  was  two-and-twenty." 

It  was  the  night  before  the  wedding  that  Sir  Charles  de- 
livered himself  of  the  above  sentiments.  They  were  all 
sitting  by  the  open  windows,  I  remember,  and  I  kept  running 
in  and  out,  devoting  myself  as  much  as  I  could  to  the  old 
gentleman,  for  I  found  that  he  and  my  father  did  not  get  on 
too  well  together.  Sir  Charles  was  exceedingly  shrewd.  He 
knew  the  sort  of  a  man  my  father  was  by  report,  and  I  have 
no  doubt  he  warned  his  son,  even  before  there  was  any  idea 
of  an  engagement  with  Rose,  to  be  prepared  against  attempts 
to  borrow  money.  Whatever  may  have  passed  between 
them,  certain  it  is  that  my  father  was  very  much  disappointed, 
and  he  always  spoke  of  Sir  Charles  as  "  mean  and  close- 
fisted."  In  vain  I  represented  that  few  fathers  would  wel- 
come as  kindly  as  Sir  Charles  a  daughter-in-law  Avho  came 
to  him  in  the  same  state  as  she  entered  the  world  —  save  the 
clothes  on  her  back.  My  father  refused  to  take  any  other 
view  of  Sir  Charles's  conduct,  and  the  intercourse  between 
them  was  not  of  the  most  cordial,  in  consequence.  So  I  had 
enough  to  do  in  keeping  up  the  ball  of  conversation  (a  soft, 
elastic  one,  that  could  hurt  no  one),  being  called  out  of  the 
room  fifty  times  in  the  course  of  the  hour ;  for,  like  Martha, 
my  mind  was  troubled  about  many  things.  There  was  "the 
packing  of  the  boxes,  and  the  preparations  for  the  break- 

13 


194  RITA:   AX   AUTOBIOGKAPHY. 

fast ;  tlie  cards  and  the  carriages  ;  tradesmen  bringing  home 
forgotten  orders  at  the  eleventh  hour ;  ridiculous  little  notes 
from  the  merest  acquaintances,  requiring  answers ;  lastly,  a 
sharp  skirmish  between  Betsy  and  Rose's  new  maid,  in 
which  I  had  to  act  as  peacemaker.  What  an  evening  of 
confusion  it  Avas !  And  there  sat  Rose  herself,  smiling 
alternately  at  Charles  and  at  his  father,  as  she  sewed  on  the 
tassels  to  a  purse  she  had  been  knitting  for  the  latter. 
How  clearly  every  little  incident  of  that  July  evening  re- 
turns to  me  ! 

And  I  linger  over  them,  reader,  for  very  loathness  to 
approach  a  certain  short  passage  in  my  life's  story  to  which 
I  am  rapidly  coming.  But  it  must  be  done.  I  know  I  can- 
not give  any  faithful  picture  of  that  life's  subsequent  jour- 
ney—  its  weary  desert  stages,  toilsome  ascents,  and  pleasant 
garden-halts,  without  passing  boldly  across  this  dark  and 
narrow  bridge. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

I  "WAS  putting  the  last  dresses  into  my  sister's  boxes  late 
that  night,  when  Betsy  suddenly  exclaimed, 

"0  Lor',  Miss  Rita,  why  if  we  ain't  bin  and  forgot  all 
about  the  collars  and  things  as  that  Frenchwoman  were  to 
have  brung  home.     "What  hever  are  we  to  do  ?  " 

"  How  provoking.  It  can't  be  helped  now.  It 's  too  late 
to  send,  and  there  's  no  one,  I  'm  sure,  we  can  spare  in  the 
morning.  Perhaps  she  '11  bring  them  ;  fortunately  there  are 
plenty  here.  It  is  very  tu-esome  of  her  —  she  promised 
so  faithfully,  too  ! " 

It  was  long  past  midnight  before  we  were  in  bed  ;  but  all 
the  bridal  party  were  dressed  and  ready  the  following  morn- 
ing by  ten  o'clock.  It  was  a  full-blown,  cloudless  day  at  the 
end  of  July  —  one  of  the  hottest  in  the  year :  the  windows 
open,  and  green  shutters  close ;  the  atmosphere  of  the  house 
heavy  with  the  scent  of  flowers,  which  no  breath  of  air 
stirred.  Our  beautiful  Rose  stands  there,  in  a  mist  of  tulle 
and  orange-blossom,  perfectly  calm  and  collected.  Why 
not  ?  Before  her  all  is  sunshine  —  behind  her  gloom.  She 
has  no  doubts  or  regrets  —  a  few  natural  tears,  perhaps,  at 
leaving  us  all  —  nothing  more. 

We  had  read  over  the  marriage-service  together,  at  my 
earnest  request,  very  early  that  morning.  I  sought  to  im- 
press on  her  the  solemn  nature  of  the  compact  she  was  about 
to  enter  into,  and  my  own  view  of  a  woman's  obligations  in 
matrimony.     I  ended  by  saying,  "  And  therefore,  dear  Rose, 

(195) 


196  RITA; 

I  would  sooner  beg  my  bread  than  be  married  to  a  man  I 
could  not '  tove,  honor,  and  obey  J  Not  all  the  rank  and  the 
riches  —  not  all  the  persuasion  in  the  world,  shall  tempt  me 
to  do  this.  You  have  been  so  fortunate,  darling,  as  to  meet 
with  a  companion  and  protector  for  whom  you  can  really 
feel  thus,  at  the  very  outset  of  your  life.  Few  are  so  fortu- 
nate ;  never  be  ungrateful  for  this  —  never  trifle  with  the 
happiness  which  is  yours  to-day,  but  cherish  it,  try  and  keep 
it  fresh  and  unspoiled  through  life." 

"  Oh  yes,  dear,  of  course :  and  you  '11  be  as  happy  as  I  am 
very  soon,  I  know.  A  certain  person,  who  I'm  sure  adores 
you,  will  return,  and  it  will  be  all  right,  and  then  you  '11 
come  to  England.  Happier  than  I  am  you  can't  be  —  it's 
impossible.  Charles  is  such  a  darling !  and  I  can  say  any 
thing  to  him  I  like,  and  he  does  n't  think  it  nonsense.  I 
never  felt  that  about  anybody  before,  except  mamma,  and 
I  'm  sure  I  never,  never  could  love  any  one  as  I  do 
Charles  ! " 

I  liked  to  hear  her  reiterate  the  assurance  of  her  en- 
tire love  and  confidence  in  him.  I  knew  that  she  was  not 
capable  of  the  strong  life-and-death  attachment  of  more  pas- 
sionate natures  ;  I  knew  that  bad  Charles  died,  or  the 
marriage  from  some  cause  been  broken  off,  her  weak,  affec- 
tionate heart  would  have  clung  and  bound  round  something 
else  in  a  year  or  two :  but  I  liked  to  hear  her  declare  her 
belief  in  the  unalterable,  immortal  nature  of  her  love ;  and 
she  would  be  a  tender,  good  little  wife,  I  knew. 

There  was  a  large  assemblage  of  persons  in  the  British 
Embassy  chapel,  for  whom  we  none  of  us  cared,  but  who 
were  asked,  as  being  the  only  members  of  the  heau  monde 
left  in  Paris  at  that  season.  I  stood  near  my  sister,  and 
once  again,  as  I  listened  to  those  impressive  words,  I  breathed 
a  secret  vow  that  never  would  I  stand  before  God's  altar,  as 
a  bride,  but  when  I  could  make  those  solemn  responses  with 
my  whole  heart  and  soul. 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  197 

The  wedding  and  the  breakfast  passed  off  much  as  those 
things  usually  do.  My  father  and  Sir  Charles  each  made  a 
speech,  which  they  had  constructed  on  tlie  regular  conven- 
tional models.  My  father  said,  with  effusion,  that  sad  as  the 
parting  with  his  daughter  was,  he  was  consoled  in  remem- 
bering into  what  excellent  hands  he  gave  her;  that  she  had 
always  been  perfect  in  her  conduct  as  a  daughter,  and  that 
he  doubted  not  that  she  would  prove  so  in  every  other  rela- 
tion of  life ;  finally,  that  he  begged  to  congratulate  the  man 
whose  wife  she  became.  Sir  Charles  observed  that,  coming 
of  such  parents,  it  was  impossible  to  doubt  the  amiable  char- 
acter of  the  lady  whom  he  had  the  happiness  to  call  his 
daughter  that  day ;  his  excellent  friend  Colonel  Percival's 
acquaintance  he  had  only  lately  had  the  happiness  of  mak- 
ing, but  Mrs.  Percival  he  had  long  known ;  and  he  could 
only  say,  that  if  her  daughter  but  emulated  the  admirable 
example  she  had  always  had  before  her,  etc.  etc.  etc. 

My  mother  did  not  cry,  as  I  expected.  She  looked 
flushed,  and  so  handsome  in  her  gray  dress,  with  its  soft, 
white  lace,  that  I  heard  several  people  say  she  might  be 
taken  for  our  elder  sister.  When  Rose  retired  to  change 
her  dress,  we  accompanied  her,  and  even  then  my  mother 
did  not  give  Avay.  She  seemed  sustained  by  the  strong  ex- 
citement to  exertion  as  long  as  the  necessity  for  it  lasted. 

And  now  the  carriage  with  the  white-favored  postilions  is 
at  the  door  ;  the  last  package  ha^  been  carried  down  stairs  ; 
the  maid  is  already  in  the  rumble.  Rose,  with  a  few  tears 
on  her  cheeks,  kisses  all  round  two  or  three  times,  then 
passes  through  the  drawing-room,  shaking  hands  with  those 
who  are  near  her,  and  hurries  down  stairs,  leaning  on  my 
father's  arm.     Charles  and  the  old  baronet  follow. 

"God  bless  'ee,  Charlie,  my  boy!"  cries  the  latter; 
"  write  to  me  from  Geneva,  and  let  me  hear  how  you  are 
getting  on.  Confounded  dull  place,  unless  it's  changed  since 
I  was  there,  with  your  mother,  in  '15,  when  we  toured  it, 


198 


RITA: 


after  the  Peace.     Confounded  dull  work,  travelling.     I  ad- 
vise you  to  come  home  soon.     God  bless  'ee  both ! " 

He  wrings  his  son's  hand  through  the  carriage  window, 
and  now  the  young  couple  are  off.  We  all  crowd  on  the 
balcony,  and  kiss  our  hands :  a  little  white  glove  waves  in 
answer.  Betsy  rushes  forth,  and  to  the  astonishment  of  the 
Parisian  mob,  flings  an  old  satin  shoe  after  the  carriage  as  it 
whirls  away,  and  a  great  cloud  of  dust  receives  it  out  of  our 
sight. 

They  are  to  spend  the  remainder  of  that  summer  and  au- 
tumn in  Switzerland,  and  the  winter  in  Italy.  They  will 
pass  through  Paris  on  their  way  home  in  the  spring,  when 
Mrs.  Charles  Murray  will  be  presented  "  on  her  marriage." 
I  hear  people  talking  of  these  things  as  they  stand  in  the 
balcony,  or  hover  in  knots  about  the  room,  spinning  the  light 
gossamer-web  of  small-talk  —  but  I  seem  as  one  in  a  dream. 
T  look  towards  my  mother,  who  has  borne  up  bravely  hith- 
erto, and  I  observe  that  she  begins  to  grow  pale,  and  her 
face  has  a  weary,  worn  expression  about  it.  How  I  wish  all 
these  people  were  gone !  but  they  are  beginning  only  slowly 
to  disperse.  It  is  desperate  work  keeping  up  an  appearance 
of  liveliness  now. 

I  seat  myself  at  the  window  at  last,  feeling  incapable  of 
further  exertion.  Two  or  three  men  only  remain,  and  they 
are  talking  about  the  Chantilly  races  with  my  father  and 
Sir  Charles,  so  I  can  be  quiet.  I  recall  the  engraving  of 
Newton's  "  Bridesmaid,"  and  fancy  I  feel  as  much  as  she 
may  have  done.  But  this  is  not  a  time  for  vain  regrets :  I 
have  enough  to  do  in  the  "  living  present."  Nay,  a  moment 
of  action  is  even  now  at  hand.  I  get  up  to  attend  to  my 
mother,  whom  I  can  see  in  the  perspective  of  the  second 
room,  stretched,  completely  exhausted,  on  her  sofa,  when  I 
am  stopped  by  a  servant. 

"  There  is  a  person  outside  who  wishes  to  speak  with  you, 
mademoiselle." 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  199 

"  What  sort  of  person  ?  " 

"  A  woman." 
"'"It  must  be  Marie  Dumont ;"  and  upon  the  staircase  out- 
side our  door  I  found  her  mdeed,  but  looking  more  as  I  first 
knew  her  —  pale  and  very  worn. 

"  Come  in,  Marie  ;  why  do  you  stand  there  ?  " 

"Oh,  mademoiselle,  forgive  me!  I  dare  not  come  in. 
The  child  has  been  very  ill,  and  that  is  why  I  was  not 
able  to  do  the  work  in  time.  I  could  not  bear  you  to 
think  —  " 

"I  understand.  Well,  never  mind;  it  can't  be  helped. 
How  is  the  child?" 

"Dieu  solt  beni!  he  is  well  now.  I  thought  the  bon 
Dieu  would  have  taken  him.  For  four  nights  I  never  left 
his  cradle." 

"  You  look  ill  yourself  —  you  must  take  care.  What  was 
the  matter  with  him  ?  " 

"  Smallpox,  mademoiselle." 

I  shrank  back,  involuntarily,  with  horror.  "  Good 
Heavens,  Marie !  what  could  make  you  think  of  coming 
here,  then  ?  You  don't  know  how  easily  infection  is 
brought." 

"  Dear  mademoiselle,  the  doctor  said  there  was  no  danger 
whatever.  The  house  is  well  purified,  none  of  the  lodgers 
have  caught  it,  and  I  wanted  so  much  to  tell  you  how  it  was 
the  things  were  not  done.  I  would  not  go  in,  however,  and 
here  —  " 

"  Well,  at  all  events  I  cannot  stay  talking  to  you.  My 
father  and  mother  have  both  a  peculiar  horror  of  the  dis- 
ease." 

But  even  as  I  speak,  the  sound  of  voices  in  loud  and 
laughing  discourse  come  nearer  and  nearer  through  the 
doors.  The  stair-landing  where  we  stand  is  dark,  and  hear- 
ing the  voices  approach,  I  draw  aside  to  let  them  pass,  when 
suddenly  I  feel  myself  seized  by  an  iron,  icy  grasp.     Marie, 


200  RITA:   AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

her  eyes  dilated,  her  face  livid,  distorted,  drags  me  yet 
further  back  —  back  into  the  shadow  of  an  alcove.  I  have 
no  power  of  resistance ;  my  breath  seems  suddenly  sus- 
pended, while  she  crushes  me  against  the  wall.  And  as  she 
stands  there  quivering  under  some  violent  emotion,  the  own- 
ers of  those  merry  voices  appear,  and  seeing  me  apparently 
engaged  in  earnest  conversation,  pass  on  down  stairs. 

"  Who  —  who  is  that  ?  How  comes  he  here  ?  "  she  gasps 
out. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  Don't  hold  me  in  that  manner, 
Marie." 

"  For  the  love  of  God,  what  is  that  man's  real  name  ?  " 

"  Who  —  which  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  The  last  speaker  —  there  —  he  who  is  showing  the  way 
—  that  tall,  fair  man." 

"  That  ?     Why,  that  is  my  father." 

"  Father  !  "  she  shrieked,  and  threw  her  arms  wildly  up. 
A  glimmering  of  the  horrid  truth  flashed  on  me. 

"  He  is  my  Edouard  Brown.  He  is  the  fa — "  A  burst 
of  hysterical  sobs  choked  her  utterance,  and  she  sank  in  a 
heap  on  the  stairs. 


CHAPTER  XVni. 

I  DRAW  a  veil  over  the  rest  of  that  scene.  "What  I  then 
felt,  you  can  guess,  reader,  better  than  I  can  tell.  You 
have  never  known,  happily,  the  bitterness  of  such  an  hour, 
but  you  can  imagine  something  like  the  revulsion  it  created 
in  my  whole  being.  I  got  the  poor  creature  away  some- 
how —  I  hardly  knew  how  myself.  I  felt  giddy  and  stun- 
ned. I  could  no  more  have  shed  tears  than  I  could  have 
talked  over  the  hideous  secret  that  lay  festering  at  my 
breast ;  and  I  had  a  sickening  dread  of  meeting  my  poor, 
miserable  mother.  Long  afterwards,  the  recollection  of  that 
dread  came  back  to  me,  as  one  of  those  mysterious  fore- 
bodings that  Providence  gives  us  all  some  time  or  other  in 
our  lives. 

At  length  Betsy  came  to  say  my  mother  had  gone  to  bed, 
feeling  unwell. 

All  that  evening,  and  far  into  the  night,  I  was  in  close 

attendance  on  her.     She  was  feverish,  with  a  headache  and 

frequent  sickness,  and  lay  tossing  and  moaning  there,  unable 

to  get  any  rest.     Oh !  that  long,  sultry  night !    when  the 

orange-trees  on  the  balcony  never  stirred  a  leaf,  and  the 

moon  shone  full  into  the  room  through  the  open  window, 

carving  black  stone-shadows  all  about,  like  those  that  lay  so 

heavy  at  my  heart!     There  I  sat  at  the  foot  of  the  bed, 

bathing  her  face  now  and  then  with  vinegar,  or  trying,  with 

a  feather  fan,  to  bring  a  little   air  about  her.      Towards 

morning  —  it  might  be  two  or  three  o'clock  —  Betsy  insisted 

(201) 


202  RITA: 

on  relieving  watch,  that  I  might  go  to  bed.  I  was  indeed 
worn  out,  and  thought  if  I  could  sleep  for  a  few  hours  I 
should  be  better  fitted  to  meet  the  to-morrow,  and  whatever 
it  might  bring.  But  sleep  would  not  come ;  pei'haps  from 
over-exhaustion  —  perhaps  from  the  striving  and  longing 
after  its  peaceful  oblivion.  The  birds  began  to  sing,  and 
clocks  struck  the  wakening  hours  :  sounds  of  life  made  them- 
selves heard  through  the  great  city.  It  was  useless  :  I  rose 
and  dressed  myself.  My  mother  was  no  better ;  and  all  that 
day  she  remained  much  in  the  same  state.  The  next,  my 
father  and  Ernest  were  to  leave  us,  which  was  an  inexpres- 
sible relief  to  me.  But  in  the  morning  my  mother  was  so 
ill,  that,  after  sending  for  the  doctor,  I  mustered  courage  to 
tell  my  father  that  I  thought  he  ought  to  stay  (it  was  a  bitter 
draught  for  me ! )  and  that  the  parting  from  Ernest  would, 
I  feared,  have  a  terrible  effect  on  my  mother  in  her  weak 
state.  I  was  told  that  the  vessel  in  which  my  brother's  pas- 
sage to  India  was  taken  sailed  on  a  certain  day,  and  that 
"  the  least  he  could  have  in  London  was  three  days,  and  the 
idea  of'  his  losing  his  passage-money,  on  account  of  his 
mother's  headaches,"  was  quite  ridiculous. 

So  spoke  our  father ;  but  the  tears  gathered  in  Ernest's 
eyes,  though  he  tried  to  conceal  what  he  felt. 

"  God  bless  you,  dear  boy,"  whispered  my  mother,  raising 
herself  up  in  bed  with  a  great  effort,  and  folding  her  arms 
around  him.  "  "\Ye  shall  never  see  each  other  again,  but 
you  '11  be  good,  and  steady,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  won't 
you,  dear,  for  the  sake  of  poor  mamma  ?  and  you  '11  wear 
this  piece  of  hair  round  your  neck,  and  think  of  her  some- 
times, when  you  're  getting  into  any  mischief."  And  so  they 
parted,  to  meet  in  this  Avorld  no  more. 

That  same  evening,  when  the  doctor  had  seen  his  pa- 
tient, he  drew  me  aside  with  a  grave,  hesitating  air,  and 
paused,  as  he  fingered  the  seals  on  his  watch-chain,  before 
he  spoke. 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  203 

"  I  am  afraid  —  I  am  rather  afraid,  young  lady,  we  have 
some  {iwkward  symptoms  this  evening.  I  can't  say  posi- 
tively, but  I  think,  all  things  considered,  it  would  be  safer 
for  you  to  remove  to  some  friend's  house,  and  send  for  a 
nurse  —  a  soeur  de  charite,  for  instance  —  to  attend  on  your 
mamma." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  doctor  ?  I  don't  understand.  You 
surely  don't  suppose  I  should  leave  my  mother  ?  What  is  it 
you  are  afraid  of  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  cannot  say  positively  —  not  decidedly  —  till 
to-morrow ;  but,  judging  from  certain  symptoms,  you  see,  I 
should  think  it  safer,  ior  fear  of  infection  —  " 

"  Infection  ?     What  of?  " 

"  Smallpox." 

I  ti'embled,  and  turned  even  paler  than  I  was,  I  suppose, 
for  Dr.  T.  hastened  to  add, 

"  I  see  you  are  alarmed,  and  you  had  much  better  take 
my  advice,  for  nothing  disposes  so  much  for  infection  as 
fear." 

"  Do  you  think  it  was  for  myself?  "  I  said,  scornfully. 

O  strange,  mysterious  dispensation  !  God  only  knoAVS 
whether  I  was  really  the  medium  through  which  the  impal- 
pable poison  had  been  transmitted  from  that  wretched 
woman,  or  whether  it  was  seminated  in  the  hot,  stagnant 
atmosphere  of  the  great  city.  But  it  was  too  true.  If  Dr. 
T.  had  any  doubts,  they  were  dispelled  the  following  day. 
It  was  a  confirmed  and  virulent  case.  I  need  not  say  that 
I  never,  for  one  instant,  thought  of  leaving  her,  though 
strongly  urged  to  do  so  by  Betsy,  and,  last  of  all,  by  my 
poor  mother  herself.  Indeed,  I  know  not  where  I  could 
have  gone,  had  I  been  so  disposed.  I  had  no  friends  among 
the  mammon  of  unrighteousness  who  would  have  "  received 
me  into  their  houses."  At  all  events,  I  never  put  them  to 
the  severe  test.  My  duty  was  plain:  to  remain  by  my 
mother's   bedside   as   long  as  strength  was   given   me:    if 


204  RITA : 

stricken  by  the  hand  of  that  sickness,  I  should,  at  least,  have 
the  consolation  of  having  done  what  was  right.  I  cannot 
deny  that  I  had  an  invincible  loathing  of  the  disease,  but 
now  that  I  came  into  personal  contact  with  this  raging 
demon,  whose  ravages  in  some  painfully  disfigured  face  had 
so  often  made  me  turn  away  with  disgust,  a  fortitude,  and 
fearlessness  were  given  me  I  dared  hardly  expect.  I  never 
left  the  sick-room :  I  snatched  a  few  minutes'  sleep  when  I 
could,  Betsy  and  a  sceur  de  charite  taking  their  watch,  then, 
in  turns.  Thus  passed  nine  anxious,  weary  days,  fluctu- 
ating from  hope  to  fear,  and  fear  to  hope.  I  wrote  to  my 
father,  and  his  answer  was  much  what  I  expected.  He  said 
it  was  "  a  fortunate  thing  Ernest  did  not  remain  after  all,  as 
he  might  have  caught  that  confounded  complaint : "  that  he 
had  "just  returned  from  Southampton,  after  seeing  him  oflf 
in  the  Ganges  —  a  capital  steamer "  —  that  London  was 
already  very  empty,  and  he  thought  of  going  down  for  a 
week  to  Cowes,  as  of  course  he  should  n't  return  home  until 
all  danger  of  infection  was  over,  as  he  could  be  of  no  use. 
He  was  really  very  sorry;  it  was  a  great  bore:  and  he 
begged  I  would  see  that  the  house  was  properly  purified 
before  he  came  back. 

Purified  before  he  came  hack.  Hideous  mockery !  And 
she  lying  between  life  and  death  the  while  —  all  alike  to 
her,  now,  tenderness  or  neglect. 

Then  my  impious  heart  cried  aloud  in  its  bitterness,  dar- 
ing to  question  the  decrees  of  the  AU-AVise. 

"  Father  !  if  there  be  retributive  justice  on  earth,  why  is 
she,  patient-hearted,  sinned  against,  the  victim  of  this  loath- 
some disease,  and  not  you  ?  " 

In  the  delirium  of  fever  my  mother's  mind  recurred,  as  it 
had  done  once  before,  to  other  days  and  scenes.  She  was 
quite  unconscious  of  our  presence,  and  often  rambled  on  the 
whole  night,  so  that  it  was  exhausting  even  to  sit  by  and 
listen.      On  the  ninth  day  the  fever  abated;    she  became 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  205 

calmer  ;  her  breathing  less  oppressed ;  and  she  knew  us  — 
my  faithful  Betsy  and  me.  My  heart  grew  light  in  the 
belierihat  the  danger -was  now  over. 

"  If  she  have  but  strength  to  rally,"  said  the  doctor  that 
night,  "  she  is  safe.  Unfortunately,  we  have  to  contend  with 
a  constitutional  malady  as  well,  that  has  been  weakening  her 
for  years." 

But  I  would  listen  to  nothing  but  my  own  hopes,  and  so 
five  more  days  slipped  by,  and  I  wrote  to  my  father  that  all 
danger  of  infection  was  over  —  that  my  mother  was  only 
now  left  very  prostrate  after  Ijer  severe  illness,  but  that  if 
she  could  be  strengthened  sufficiently  to  be  moved  some- 
where, I  thought  change  of  air  would  soon  set  her  up. 

It  was  the  evening  of  the  10th  of  August.  My  mother 
had  been  sleeping,  or  at  least  lying  so  tranquilly  for  many 
hours,  and  I  felt  so  much  easier  about  her,  that  I  had  ven- 
tured out  for  the  first  time  to  get  a  little  fresh  air.  On  my 
return  she  was  awake,  and  made  me  come  and  sit  close  to 
her  pillow.  It  was  then  twilight,  but  I  could  still  distinguish 
her  face  plainly. 

"  Give  me  that  small  leather-case,  Betsy,  and  you  need  n't 
stay.  You  must  be  worn  out.  Go  and  rest  yourself.  Miss 
Rita  will  remain  with  me.  —  My  dear,  now  we  are  alone,  I 
have  so  many  things  I  wish  to  say,  I  hardly  know  how  to 
begin.  Whether  I  shall  have  time  to  tell  you  all,  I  think 
you  ought  to  know  —  before  —  My  child,  you  know  some- 
thing of  what  my  life  has  been.  I  forgive  him  from  my 
heart,  dear :  tell  him  so  when  I  am  gone.  I  hope  I  am  not 
wrong  in  speaking  to  you  about  him :  I  wish  to  do  what  is 
best.  You  will  be  left  alone,  quite  alone  with  him,  when  I 
am  gone.  You  are  wiser,  dear,  and  have  a  stronger  head 
than  I  —  "VYell,  never  mind.  What  I  wanted  to  tell  you 
refers  to  the  past  —  for  her  sake  who  is  gone,  and  also  as  a 


warnmg. 


"  These  are  all  your  Aunt  Mary's  letters  —  some  written 


206  KiTA : 

before  I  was  married  —  and  some  of  your  father's.  You 
never  knew  that  he  was  once  engaged  to  be  married  to  her  ? 
She  was  very  much  attached  to  him :  but  she  herself  broke 
it  off,  from  his  inveterate  habit  of  gambHng.  Nothing  could 
cure  him.  He  promised,  but  was  always  induced  to  play 
again.  It  cost  her  a  great  deal  to  give  him  up,  but  she  did 
so.  She  was  very  young  then,  and  was  never  the  same 
afterwards.  I  was  a  child  and  at  school,  and  knew  nothing 
of  it.  Three  years  afterwards,  when  Mary  found  he  was 
paying  me  attention  —  I  was  just  come  out,  and  Mary  did  n't 
go  any  longer  into  the  world  —  she  wrote  up  from  the  coun- 
try, sending  me  these  letters  of  his,  and  warning  me  against 
a  confirmed  gambler,  entreating  me  not  to  think  of  him. 
She  put  her  own  feelings  out  of  the  question :  it  must  have 
cost  her  a  great  deal  to  write  this  to  me,  I  was  a  foolish 
young  thing,  and  thought  there  was  no  harm  in  amusing 
myself  with  him,  and  never  dreamt  of  any  thing  serious. 
And  a  year  or  two  passed,  and  still,  whenever  we  met,  he 
paid  me  the  same  attention,  and  still  we  heard  that  he  gam- 
bled ;  but  I  found,  notwithstanding,  that  I  thought  oftener  of 
him  than  of  any  one  else.  At  last,  in  spite  of  all  my  sister's 
entreaties,  I  was  selfish  and  blind  enough  to  accept  him! 
Oh !  Mary,  not  even  you  knew  half  the  trials  I  have  since 
had  —  no  one  will  ever  know  —  but  I  considered  it  all  the 
just  punishment  of  my  folly  and  ingratitude  then  —  God  for- 
give me ! " 

She  laid  her  head  back,  exhausted  with  the  exertion  of 
talking  so  much.  I  moistened  her  lips  with  some  grapes, 
and  then  sat  down,  holding  her  emaciated  hand  in  mine,  my 
heai-t  too  full  for  words.  Presently  she  raised  her  head 
again.  I  made  a  sign  to  her  to  lie  down  and  not  speak,  but 
she  shook  her  head. 

"  I  had  been  married  but  a  very  little  while  before  I  dis- 
covered that  my  husband  did  not  care  for  me.  That  was 
my  first  trial  —  perhaps  my  bitterest.     God  knows  why  he 


AN    AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  207 

had  married  nae.  I  was  handsome  and  run  after  —  it 's  all 
one  now,  I  can  talk  of  it  —  and  perhaps  it  was  pique,  for  it 
was  «Ae,  and  she  only,  Mary,  he  really  loved  —  as  much  as 
he  was  able  to  love  any  thing.  Oh !  he  would  have  been  a 
different  man  if  he  had  married  her,  I  think.  She  would 
have  had  an  influence  over  him  I  never  had.  I  was  foolish 
—  weak.  Rita,  when  you  marry,  make  your  husband  respect 
you.  Sometimes,  since  I  have  been  ill,  the  thought  has 
come  over  me  that  I  was  terribly,  wickedly  the  cause  of — 
O  God  forgive  me !     He  knows  I  had  much  to  suffer." 

She  stopped,  gasping  for  breath ;  a  sharp  spasm  crossed 
her  face,  and  her  thin  hand  trembled  convulsively  in  mine. 

"  Mother,  dearest  mother,  do  not  agitate  yourself  in  this 
way  —  pray  do  not.  Leave  the  rest  of  what  you  wish  to 
say  till  the  morning.  Your  mind  is  unnaturally  excited 
now ;  do  not  talk  any  more.  I  will  remain  by  you  all  night, 
only  try  and  sleep  now,  and  when  you  wake — " 

"  I  must  finish  what  I  have  to  say  while  I  can.  Your 
aunt,  after  some  years,  Rita,  married  Sir  Nicholas  Dacre. 
She  had  a  great  respect  and  admiration  for  her  husband ;  I 
don't  think  it  was  exactly  love,  but  she  mourned  for  him, 
when  he  died,  as  her  best  friend.  And  meantime  our  diffi- 
culties began,  and  got  worse  and  worse,  until  at  last  —  oh ! 
it  was  very  hard  and  humbling  in  my  position  —  I  applied 
to  Mary  for  assistance.  I  would  sooner  have  done  any 
thing  else  than  that.     Your  father  made  me." 

If  my  mother  could  distinguish  my  face  at  that  moment, 
she  must  have  seen  a  strange  expression  there.  I  thought 
my  father  could  not  sink  lower  in  my  eyes :  there  was  yet 
another  step,  I  found.  How  he,  with  all  his  false  pride,  sit- 
uated so  strangely,  as  I  now  learnt,  with  regard  to  my  aunt 
—  how  he  could  have  brought  himself  to  beg  of  her,  was 
more  than  I  could  comprehend.  Even  at  that  hour,  in  a 
tumult  of  conflicting  emotions,  I  remember  my  blood  boiling 
with  indignation  in  my  veins  —  it  seemed  too  unnatural  to 


208  KiTA  ; 

be  possible.     It  seems  so  still,  when  I  think  of  it  at  this  dis- 
tance of  time. 

"  It  was  a  system  of  constant  borrowing  after  that,"  my 
mother  continued.     "Your  father  was  always  getting  into 
fresh  trouble,  alas!  —  promising  and  breaking  his  word  — 
the  old  story.     I  need  n't  tell  you,  dear,  that  Mary  did  all 
she  could  to  reclaim  him :  she  saw  Jews  and  lawyers,  and 
settled  all  his  affairs  twice,  besides  all  she  had  given  him 
before  to  pay  his  debts  of  honor  —  that  was  when  she  was 
here.     And  at  last  she  saw  it  was  of  no  use,  and  she  deter- 
mined to  do  no  more;    she  said  the  money  had  better  be 
spent  in  educating  you  all,  and  that  is  why  she  left  her 
money  —  you  understand  —  any  legacy  or  annuity  to  me,  he 
would  have  had  power  over."     Her  voice  was  growing  very 
faint,  but  still  she  went  on.     "  Now  I  have  told  you  all.     Do 
you  know  why?     Because,  dear,  you  will  have  to  resist 
your  father,  I  'm  afraid,  in  many  ways,  when  I  'm  gone,  and 
it 's  better  you  should  be  prepared,  and  know  that  his  love  of 
gambling  is  so  great,  nothing  will  restrain  him.     As  a  young 
man,  he  sacrificed  the  only  woman  he  ever  loved  for  it ;  as 
a  married  one,  he  has  sacrificed  his  wife  and  children.     He 
will  try  to  get  hold  of  your  little  annuity.     You  must  resist 
it ;  and  watch,  too,  over  the  interests  of  your  brothers.     You 
must  be  a  mother  to  my  poor  boys,  Rita.     And  I  know  he 
will  try  and  persuade  you  into  marrying  some  one  for  his 
money.     Don't  do  it,  dear.     I  was  thinking  that  by-and-by, 
perhaps,  you  might  go  and  live  with  Rose  and  her  husband 

—  not  that  I  would  have  you  desert  him,  if  he  will  really  be 
a  father  to  you  ;  only  — " 

She  broke  off,  as  though  her  thoughts  were  in  too  painful 
a  train  even  for  words,  and  when  she  spoke  again,  her  man- 
ner was  very  calm  and  solemn. 

"  I  think  God  will  not  let  you  come  to  harm,  dearest  Rita 

—  if  you  ask  Him.     i\Iy  own  trials,  perhaps,  would  have 
been  lighter,  if  I  had  '  laid  all  my  care  upon  Him.'     Ain't 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  209 

those  the  "words  ?  Read  me  that  chapter.  I  thought  too 
little  about  religion,  but  God  is  merciful.  I  believe  that 
from.the  bottom  of  my  heart." 

I  lit  a  candle,  and  took  down  the  Bible  and  prayer-book 
from  the  shelf.  I  thought  it  would  tranquillize  her  mind, 
and  at  all  events  prevent  her  talking,  to  read  her  something  ; 
but  of  the  comfort  of  the  Scriptures  I  practically  knew 
nothing.  I  was  ignorant  where  the  chapter  she  asked  for 
was  to  be  found ;  so  I  looked  for  the  Evening  Psalms  of  the 
day.  I  could  hardly  steady  my  voice  sufficiently  to  begin ; 
and  when  I  came  to  that  beautiful  Fifty -fifth  Psalm  —  I  do 
not  know  that  I  had  ever  read  it  before — its  applicability 
to  the  occasion  almost  overpowered  me.  It  seemed  as 
though  the  voice  of  Conscience  sighed,  "  My  heart  is  dis- 
quieted within  me,  and  the  fear  of  death  has  fallen  upon 
me,"  the  wayworn  spirit  struggling  to  be  free,  and  exclaim- 
ing, "  Oh  that  I  had  wings  like  a  dove,  for  then  would  I 
flee  away  and  be  at  rest.  Lo,  then  would  I  get  me  away 
far  off,  and  remain  in  the  wilderness.  I  would  make  haste 
to  escape,  because  of  the  stormy  wind  and  tempest."  But 
when  I  came  to  the  words,  "  For  it  is  not  an  enemy  who 
hath  done  me  this  dishonor,  for  then  I  could  have  borne  it ; 
neither  was  it  mine  adversary  that  did  magnify  himself 
against  me,  for  then,  peradventure,  I  would  have  hid  myself 
from  him :  But  it  was  even  thoii,  my  companion,  my  gidde, 
and  mine  own  familiar  friend"  —  I  felt  a  strange  thrill 
through  me.  The  song  of  the  Hebrew  shepherd-king, 
plaining  away,  thousands  of  years  ago,  seemed  the  direct 
echo  of  our  own  actual  trouble. 

After  I  had  done,  she  repeated  softly  the  words,  "Oh 
cast  thy  burden  upon  the  Lord,  and  he  shall  nourish  thee." 
Then  she  fell  into  a  fitful,  uneasy  doze,  and  I  stole  from  the 
room  on  tiptoe.  I  could  not,  would  not  allow  myself  to 
believe  there  was  danger ;  but  yet  —  Let  a  message  be 
taken  to  the  clergyman,  requesting  him  to  come  as  early  as 

14 


210  RITA: 

he  can  in  the  morning.     Half  an  hour  afterwards  Dr.  T. 
stood  with  me  by  the  bed. 

"  There  has  been  too  much  excitement  here.  I  am  sorry 
to  tell  you  I  find  her  much  less  well  than  I  did  this  morning. 
She  may,  with  sleep  and  perfect  quiet  —  " 

I  hid  my  face  in  my  hands.  I  gave  up  hope  from  that 
moment. 

"  The  action  of  the  heart  is  so  very  feeble.  I  am  in- 
clined to  think  there  must  be  some  strong  mental  excite- 
ment, too,  the  brain  is  still  so  irritated  —  it  is  working  too 
much  for  the  body.  I  confess  the  case  begins  to  look  very 
serious.  Still,  if  you  can  keep  your  mamma  perfectly  tran- 
quil for  some  hours  —  " 

"  Tell  me  the  truth ;  I  had  rather.  Don't  deceive  me.  Is 
there  any  hope  ?  " 

He  said,  in  the  low,  professional  voice,  "  I  am  afraid,  very 
Uttle." 

The  nights  that  had  preceded  it  were  as  nothing  com- 
pared to  this.  My  faculties,  I  thank  God,  were  not  para- 
lyzed :  I  was  able  to  think  of  and  do  all  that  was  necessary 
or  possible  to  be  done,  but  I  was  no  longer  sustained  by  any 
hope,  and  I  felt  that  I  never  had  loved  my  mother  so  much 
as  now  I  was  about  to  lose  her.  That  last  confidence  and 
appeal,  in  disclosing  to  me  how  much  she  had  loved  and 
struggled  and  suffered,  had  drawn  me  closer  to  her  than  I 
had  been  in  all  these  years.  Strange,  how  little  we  often 
know  of  those  who  are  next  us  in  the  battle-ranks  through 
this  long  march  of  life !  Sometimes,  at  the  end  of  the 
day  —  sometimes  earlier,  should  the  heavy  breastplates  of 
custom  be  displaced  by  accident  —  we  are  amazed  to  find 
the  warm,  sensitive  heart,  or,  it  may  be,  the  ghastly  wound 
that  has  laid  hidden  from  us  until  then.  I  knew  my  mother 
better  now.  The  earth-cloud  that  dimmed  so  much  that 
was  true  and  tender  was  removed.  My  heart  smote  me  in  a 
thousand  little  things.     I  thought  how  I  might  have  been 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  211 

more  her  companion  while  she  was  yet  with  us,  and  accused 
myself  of  not  having  loved  her  as  I  ought. 

"T't>pencd  the  window,  and  put  back  the  curtain.  My 
mother  was  awake  now.  She  turned  her  hot,  weary  head 
towards  it,  and  I  could  see  her  eyes  fixed  thirstily  upon  the 
blue  vault  of  heaven  —  she  was  longing  for  the  eternal 
peace  that  was  beyond  that  deep,  pure  sky.  And  as  I 
looked  into  the  heart  of  the  night,  and  thought  of  my  deso- 
late position  here  Avhen  she  was  gone,  I  murmured  again 
with  the  Psalmist,  "  Oh  that  I  had  wings  like  a  dove,  for 
then  would  I  flee  away,  and  be  at  rest." 

With  the  first  glimmer  of  morning  I  observed  that  a 
change  had  come  over  her  face.  She  seemed  to  wish  to  say 
something,  and  motioned  that  I  should  lower  my  head  to  her 
lips.  She  had  not  once  alluded  to  my  father's  absence,  or 
expressed  a  wish  for  his  return.     Now  she  said, 

"  I  have  hoped  so  to  see  him  once  more,  that  I  might 
charge  him  —  with  my  dying  words  —  to  redeem  the  past  — 
to  amend  his  life  —  to  be  a  father  to  his  children,  as  he 
hopes  to  have  mercy  from  our  Father  —  hereafter.  Tell 
him  so  —  tell  him  I  forgave  him  from  my  heart  —  and  that 
I  died  happy,  trusting  in  the  mercy  of  God  —  to  whose 
care  I  commend  my  children  —  " 

At  five  o'clock  the  clergyman  came,  and  administered  the 
sacrament.  I  know  her  heart  joined  fervently  in  the  re- 
sponses, though  her  lips  moved  but  feebly,  and  gave  forth 
no  sound.  Her  cold  hand  lay  in  mine,  and  her  face  was 
towards  that  glorious  sun  that  was  breaking  in  the  east- 
em  sky. 

***** 

Three  hours  later,  I  stood  with  tearless  eyes  gazing  at  her 
as  she  lay  there,  beautiful  again  in  the  holy  serenity  of 
death.  I  had  folded  her  hands  —  those  perfect  hands  — 
meekly  on  her  breast,  and  placed  some  white  roses  in  them. 
The  servants  were  all  gone  out,  on  one  sad  errand  or  an- 


212  kita:  an  autobiography. 

other :  I  was  alone  in  the  apartment.  There  was  a  ring  at 
the  bell;  then  another  louder  than  the  first.  I  thought  I 
heard  the  door  opened  as  if  with  a  latch-key,  and  a  heavy- 
step  coming  through  the  rooms.  I  had  been  arranging  with 
my  dead-cold  hand*  the  linen  shroud :  I  drew  it  hastily  over 
the  face,  and  went  towards  the  door. 

It  was  thrown  open  suddenly.  My  father,  covered  with 
dust,  stood  before  me. 

"  Curse  those  servants.  I  've  been  rmging  for  an  hour. 
"What  does  it  mean?  By  G— d,  Rita,  I'll  have  them  all  — 
Why,  what 's  the  matter  ?     Where  —  where  is  your  mother  ?  " 

I  drew  back  the  shroud.  "  There  she  lies  —  at  rest,  and 
beyond  this  world's  cruel  wrongs." 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

There  are  periodical  changes  in  the  moral  as  in  the 
physical  system.  If  we  look  honestly  within  ourselves,  and 
then  recall  what  Ave  were  a  few  years  back  (and  since  we 
came  to  man's  and  Avoman's  estate),  we  see  how  differently 
we  then  thought  and  felt.  The  change  may  be  for  the 
better,  or  for  worse.  The  mind,  like  its  material  companion, 
may  generate  some  hidden  disease,  the  germs  of  which  have 
until  now  lain  hidden ;  or  it  may  outgrow  the  feebleness  of 
youth,  become  less  susceptible  to  the  wind  and  frost,  and 
strike  forth  unexpected  shoots,  full  of  sap  and  vigor.  But 
we  all  undergo  these  revolutions,  variously  produced  in 
various  minds.  "With  some,  the  reading  of  a  book  is  suffi- 
cient. It  sets  their  thoughts  working  in  a  certain  train, 
with  good  or  bad  results,  as  the  autobiography  of  more  than 
one  criminal  tells.  Other  less  impressionable  natures  require 
some  strong  shock  to  set  the  languid  pulses  of  their  being 
astir  in  a  new  dii-ection.  And  there  are  some  who  sigh 
with  Romeo,  "  Dry  sorrow  drinks  our  blood,"  on  whom  the 
years  have  told,  by  quenching  the  sacred  fire  on  their  young 
hearts'  altar.  The  light  of  their  lives  went  out  suddenly, 
and  no  one  knew  it  —  not  even  their  best  friends  ! 

Some  such  change  as  this  now  took  place  in  me.  All  I 
had  learnt  and  suffered  during  the  past  few  months  made  me 
feel  prematurely  old.  The  bloom  —  the  elasticity  of  youth  — 
were  gone,  never  to  return.  My  childhood  had  not,  perhaps, 
been  very  happy ;  but  then  my  pleasures  were  so  little  de- 

( 213  ) 


214  EiTA : 

pendent  on  others,  that  my  girl's  spu-it  had  burned  on  brightly 
enough  —  ambition  and  enthusiasm  undimmed.  I  possessed 
that  keen  sense  of  enjoyment,  impalpable  and  evanescent  as 
the  scent  of  a  flower,  which  a  joicture,  or  a  pleasant  book  — 
nay,  sunshine  alone  —  brought  with  it,  and  which  no  one 
could  take  from  me.  A  season  had  intervened  since  then, 
in  which  I  had  gone  out  of  myself,  as  it  were.  The  world's 
smile  had  dazzled  me  until  I  had  nearly  become  one  of  its 
frivolous  dependents  for  life.  And  now  I  had  returned  again 
to  the  old  silent  companionship  of  my  own  thoughts.  The 
chamber  was  the  same,  but  dark  and  cold ;  the  embers  only 
remained  of  the  fire  that  once  warmed  it. 

The  first  days  of  heavy  mourning  were  over.  The  autumn, 
which  had  set  in  wet  and  rainy,  was  succeeded  by  sharp 
winter  weather.  I  have  little  to  tell  of  my  outward  life 
during  these  months  ;  the  history  of  every  day  would  be  but 
the  history  of  my  own  mind.  I  lived  entirely  alone.  My 
father,  to  do  him  justice,  showed  a  respect  for  my  mother's 
memoiy,  and  for  my  grief,  which  left  me  as  much  to  myself 
as  I  could  desire.  After  the  shock  —  Avhich  he  felt  in  a 
certain  way  —  was  over,  and  two  or  three  weeks  had  passed, 
he  was  out  again  just  as  much  as  ever.  I  exjiected,  of 
course,  nothing  else.  Our  lives  were  as  distinct  and  apart, 
now  that  we  were  left  alone  together  out  of  the  large  family 
circle,  as  when  I  was  a  little  child  shut  into  the  nursery  all 
day  long.  We  lived  under  the  same  roof,  and  that  was  all. 
We  had  nothing  in  common.  My  father  had  never  allowed 
me  to  love  or  respect  him,  and  all  that  had  lately  come  to 
my  knowledge  had  increased  the  distance  between  us  four- 
fold. StiU,  I  never  forgot  my  mother's  dying  injunctions. 
Had  he  shown  the  least  disposition  —  the  very  faintest  wish 
for  my  society  —  I  would  have  stilled  the  bittpr  memories 
that  cried  aloud,  and  have  gone  to  him.  But  he  never  did  ; 
and  for  many  months  my  faithful  Betsy  was  my  only  com- 
panion.    I  took  long  walks  with  her  before  breakfast ;  the 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  215 

rest  of  the  clay  I  remained  in  the  house  :  I  dreaded  so  much 
meeting  any  of  the  gay  Paris  world.  People  were  very 
killer'  Many  were  the  offers  to  take  me  out  driving,  and 
other  httle  attentions,  from  ladies  whom  I  had  done  the  injus- 
tice to  think  had  already  foi-gotten  my  existence.  Even  the 
tradesmen  showed  a  consideration  for  my  position,  when  any 
of  the  old  money  difficulties  occurred,  to  which  I  was  now, 
from  long  custom,  inured.  As  to  Monsieur  Barac,  there  was 
no  measure  to  the  kind  thoughts  he  had  for  me.  He  gener- 
ally waylaid  me  on  my  return  in  the  morning,  now  to  press 
on  me  a  pot  of  tulips  for  my  window  —  now  to  offer  me  a 
number  of  the  "  Magasin  Pitoresque,"  or  the  loan  of  some 
hazy  little  Van  der  Weldt,  just  imported  from  its  native  soil. 
For  I  returned  to  my  old  occupations,  not  with  the  old  zest, 
indeed,  but  with  the  determination  to  give  my  mind  so  much 
hard  work  as  should  prevent  its  preying  on  itself  I  bought 
an  Italian  grammar,  and  set  to  work  to  learn  that  language. 
Rose  wrote  that  she  found  it  very  easy,  which  made  me  first 
think  of  learning ;  and  I  discovered  that  nothing  occupies 
the  mind  mox'e  successfully  for  the  time  than  the  exercise  of 
those  faculties  —  not  very  high,  perhaps,  half-mechanical 
ones  —  necessary  to  acquire  a  language.  Poor  Rose  !  the 
sad  news  had  reached  her  at  Geneva,  in  the  third  week  of 
her  honeymoon.  It  was  a  terrible  shock,  coming  in  the 
midst  of  their  first  happiness  ;  but  I  was  glad  they  were 
travelling.  Far  better  than  remaining  in  one  place,  with 
nothing  to  distract  the  mind  from  one  sad  subject.  I  heard 
from  her  constantly,  and  already  her  letters  showed  she  had 
recovered  her  spirits.  I  dare  say  the  constant  and  rapid 
change  of  scene  made  the  weeks  that  had  elapsed  appear 
long  and  many  —  to  me  it  seemed  but  yesterday.  In  De- 
cember, my  little  brothers  were  to  come  home.  I  looked 
forward  to  it  longingly.  It  would  be  pleasant  to  hear  their 
glad  young  voices  about  the  house  again. 

I  considered  for  a  long  time  what  I  should  do  about  that 


216  rita: 

wretched  woman  and  her  child.  I  could  not  abandon  her, 
poor  creature,  but  I  had  an  invincible  repugnance  to  seeing 
her  again.  Through  her  I  felt  as  if  Death  had  entered  our 
doors,  and,  placed  in  the  painful  position  we  were  towards 
each  other,  personal  interviews  could  only  be  distressing.  I 
sent  Betsy :  she  was  the  bearer  of  an  old  winter  gown  or 
two  and  some  money,  and  had  particular  injunctions  to  find 
out  how  Marie  and  the  child  were  faring.  But  they  were  gone, 
and  no  one  could  tell  any  thing  about  them.  The  neighbors 
said  she  had  left  some  weeks  before  :  she  had  paid  her  rent, 
that  was  all  the  owners  of  the  house  knew  or  cared  for :  she 
had  never  associated  much  with  them.  So  I  had  lost  all 
clue  to  her,  and  henceforward  she  must  go  on  her  solitary 
path  without  such  poor  assistance  as  I  could  offer. 

I  have  not  yet  mentioned  a  letter  that  I  received  from 
Miss  Lateward  just  before  my  mother's  death.  I  could  not 
open  it  for  many  days  ;  I  did  not  answer  it  for  weeks,  though 
my  thoughts  often  reverted  to,  and  speculated  on,  its  contents. 
It  was  followed  by  many  kind  and  sympathetic  ones  when 
she  learnt  my  loss,  but  I  give  this  first  letter  because  it 
presents  a  picture  in  detail,  colored  by  the  writer's  character- 
istic pencil,  of  the  household  in  which  she  was  now  domesti- 
cated : 

"Eochford  Court,  near  Ancaster,  August  7. 

"My  dear  Marguerite, — 

"  In  accordance  with  your  amiable  wish,  I  seat  myself  to 
narrate  to  you  the  progress  of  events  since  I  arrived  here. 
You  received  my  epistle  from  the  metropolis,  I  trust,  giving 
you  tidings  of  our  safety  after  encountering  the  perils  of  the 
watery  deep  ?  In  that  epistle,  I  expressed  my  amazement 
at  the  intelligence  of  your  sister's  approaching  nuptials :  she 
is  full  young  to  assume  the  responsibilities  of  the  conjugal 
yoke,  and  it  is  to  be  desired  that  her  education  were  more 
complete,  but  from  what  you  say  of  the  gentleman,  I  trust 
it  may  prove  a  satisfactory  alliance. 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  217 

"  You  will  be  happy  to  learn  that  my  position  is  confirmed 
as  teacher  in  this  highly  respectable  family.  My  pupil,  Miss 
Violet'  Rochford,  aged  thirteen,  is  a  young  lady  of  docile  dis- 
position, with  a  taste  for  botany,  and  rather  an  undue  predi- 
lection for  equestrian  exercise.  In  her  mnemonic  studies,  I 
find  her  attention  often  wandering  to  a  young  female  horse 
(filly  is,  I  beheve,  the  generic  term)  that  is  allowed  to  sport 
in  the  park  under  the  schoolroom  window.  I  have  requested 
that  its  gambols  may  henceforth  be  confined  to  some  more  dis- 
tant portion  of  the  demesne.  "We  have  commenced  to  form  an 
herbarium  in  our  rural  walks,  and  as  Miss  Rochford's  atten- 
tion has  been  arrested  by  the  morphological  point  of  view  in 
which  I  teach  her  to  regard  plants,  I  am  hopeful  of  thus 
combining  instruction  with  relaxation.  The  country  here  is 
singularly  devoid  of  timber ;  the  aborigines,  I  apprehend, 
having  consumed  those  vast  tracts  of  forests  of  which  we 
read  as  having  extended  throughout  Great  Britain.  There 
is  no  neighborhood  (as  it  is  ungrammatically  termed,  — 
meaning  that  there  is  but  little  visiting),  and  our  daily 
existence  is  normal  in  character,  with  little  interruption  or 
variation.  The  place,  you  are  aware,  belongs  to  Mr. 
Rochford,  but  his  mother  resides  with  him.  Her  benevo- 
lence is  truly  edifying :  she  is  daily  among  the  cottagers,  by 
whom  she  is  much  feared  and  respected :  indeed,  she  is,  it  is 
plain  to  see,  a  woman  of  very  strong  mind,  possessing  both 
promptitude^  and  firmness.  Mr.  Rochford,  who  seems  an 
amiable  young  man,  has  a  great  veneration  for  his  mother, 
consults  her  on  all  occasions,  and  seldom  decides  a  question 
without  her  sanction,  I  am  told.  He  is  an  active  magistrate, 
and  often  absent  for  some  days  at  a  time  on  county  business. 
He  takes  a  lively  interest  in  his  sister's  mental  development, 
and  of  an  evening  often  reads  aloud  Shakspeare  (a  fam- 
ily Shakspeare,  of  course,  with  all  objectionable  passages 
omitted).  Mrs.  Rochford  occasionally  plays  on  the  piano : 
she  was  a  pupil  of  Clementi,  and  considered  to  have  a  fine 


218  Rita: 

touch  for  Handel,  whom  her  son  calls  '  the  Milton  of  music/ 
The  other  night  she  was  so  engaged,  when  a  domestic  entered 
to  say  that  a  child  in  the  village  was  seized  with  the  croup. 
A  missive  had  been  sent  for  the  country  ^sculapius,  but  he 
resides  four  miles  off.  Mrs.  R.  had  on  her  waterproof  cloak 
in  a  moment  (for  it  was  raining  hard).  A  mustard  plaister 
and  some  hot  preparation  were  procured  without  loss  of  time 
from  the  housekeeper,  and  with  these  in  her  basket  she  set 
out,  her  son  holding  an  umbrella  over  her !  I  mention  this 
little  anecdote  as  illustrating  Mrs.  R.'s  energy  and  active 
benevolence.  Yet  I  think  I  perceive  (though  she  has  been 
most  Und  to  me,  I  must  say)  that  she  has  no  ordinary  degree 
of  pride.  For  instance,  yesterday,  at  luncheon,  I  inquired 
the  name  of  a  lady  whose  portrait  hangs  over  the  sideboard  — 
being  struck,  the  fact  is,  with  a  certain  degree  of  likeness  to 
you  !  A  cloud  came  over  Mrs.  R.'s  brow,  and  she  replied, 
rather  shortly, '  that  it  was  the  Duchess  of  Portsmouth.'  I 
most  unreflectingly  said,  '  Oh !  an  ancestor,  I  suppose  ? '  To 
which  she  rejoined, '  We  have  never  had  a  disreputable  char- 
acter, not  even  a  king's  mistress,  in  our  family,  though  Roch- 
ford  Court  has  been  in  our  possession  four  hundred  years. 
My  son  picked  up  that  picture  somewhere  for  the  sake  of  the 
face :  I  own  I  was  annoyed  at  it.'  (He  was  not  present, 
fortunately,  when  this  occurred.)  I  write  all  this,  my  dear 
Marguerite,  because  you  are  kind  enough  to  say  you  wish  to 
know  every  particular  relative  to  the  family  in  which  I  am 
living,  and  that  you  shall  consider  no  amount  of  detail  as 
tedious.  Lady  Janet  left  this  last  week  for  Scotland.  Her 
ladyship  often  did  me  the  honor  to  inquire  if  I  had  heard  from 
you,  and  when  I  read  to  her  some  passages  of  your  letter,  she 
appeared  deeply  interested,  as  did  also  Mrs.  Rochford,  who 
happened  to  be  present.  The  latter  has  questioned  me  more 
than  once  concerning  you,  saying  that,  from  what  she  had 
heard,  she  feared  you  must  be  too  original  and  peculiar  to 
be  very  happy.     I  believe  my  dear  pupil  deserves  all  I  said 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  219 

of  her  —  But  how  I  am  running  on  !  You  will  think  that 
thq  garrulity  of  age  has  overtaken  me.  In  the  words  of  the 
blind  bard,  '  With  thee  conversing  I  forget  all  time  ! ' 

"  Believe  me,  with  respectful  compliments  to  Mrs.  Per- 
cival,  ever  to  be, 

"My  dear  Marguerite, 

"  Your  faithful  friend, 

"Tabitha  Latewakd." 

I  thought,  when  I  read  this  letter,  what  a  disagreeable 
woman  Mrs.  Rochford  must  be.  How  intensely  I  should 
dislike  her,  and  how  the  poor  must  resent  her  impertinent 
interference  in  their  affairs  at  all  hours  of  the  day  and 
night.  You  will  perceive  I  was  angry.  It  must  have  been 
that  touch  about  the  picture,  —  though  a  flickering  hope  did 
arise,  "  Could  he  have  bought  it  from  its  likeness  to  me  ? " 
But  it  was  soon  dispelled.  He  had  never  even  mentioned 
my  name.  If  he  had  ever  spoken  of  me  to  his  mother,  it 
was  only  as  "  original  and  peculiar."  Well,  well,  it  was  a 
bubble,  and  it  had  burst.  I  had  no  right  to  expect  any 
thins  else,  and  I  ought  to  feel  how  unsuited  our  characters 
and  habits  of  life  were  to  each  other. 

Then  I  took  up  my  journal  and  read  the  following  entry, 
made  some  months  before  : 

"  Hubert  Rochford  said  to-day,  in  reply  to  an  observation 
of  mine,  that  we  should  be  all  much  better  without  our 
Spanish  castles,  —  that  day-dreaming  never  did  any  one  any 
good.  And  yet,  who  would  willingly  have  been  without 
his?  The  man  who  never  had  any  is  truly  a  possessor  of 
that  wisdom  which  is  akin  to  folly.  Delusions  are  to  our 
youth  what  mists  are  to  the  morning,  beautiful  in  themselves, 
necessary  and  refreshing  to  our  human  nature,  but  gradu- 
ally melting  before  the  strong  rays  of  the  world,  or  if  you 
like  it  better,  the  sun  of  knowledge.  Natures,  like  countries 
where  that  sun  shines  too  hotly  from   early  morning,  are 


220  RITA : 

never  very  fertile.  The  longer  we  can  keen  our  hearts 
fresh  and  untouched  by  it,  the  better." 

I  had  had  my  delusions :  they  had  not  lasted  long,  and 
they  wei'e  gone! 

You  may  believe  that  I  often  thought  over  this  letter  in 
my  sohtary  hours.  How  different  that  life  must  he  to  any 
thins:  I  had  ever  known  or  conceived !  It  sounded  dull 
enough,  certainly,  that  barren  country,  with  Handel  and 
the  herbarium  for  recreations ;  but  then  my  heart  said 
there  was  the  pervading  principle  in  such  an  existence, 
for  ever  sweetening  and  elevating  it  above  a  life  of  mere 
social  pleasures,  however  refined  and  intellectual.  Yes, 
and  I  knew,  too,  that  I  could  have  lived  thus  with  one 
companion  (no  matter  who,  for  had  I  not  driven  that 
phantom  of  a  passion  down  to  the  tomb  of  the  Capulets?), 
nor  coveted  aught,  from  year's  end  to  year's  end,  but  to  be 
one  with  him,  to  share  his  joys  and  sorrows,  his  schemes  and 
aspirations,  to  sit  down  with  him  in  the  cheerful  firelight  of 
"  home,"  and  work  out  the  great  problem  of  our  lives  in 
unison. 

Reader,  I  was  very  lonely  all  those  months ;  lonely  and 
desolate  at  heart,  which  is  a  far  different  thing  from  the 
solitude  of  the  eyes  and  tongue.  The  latter,  in  my  case, 
was  voluntary ;  but  though  I  employed  my  thoughts  as 
much  as  possible  in  other  ways,  there  were  times  when  they 
dwelt  gloomily  and  despondingly  on  the  future.  I  was  far, 
very  far,  from  having  learned,  in  all  my  troubles,  that 
Christian  conviction,  that  God  ordereth  all  things  for  the 
best,  which  I  hope  I  now  feel.  My  wild,  impatient  heart 
no  longer,  indeed,  throbbed  as  it  once  had  done  ;  but  it  was 
the  heaviness  of  the  stone  rolled  on  the  door  of  the  sepul- 
chre, not  God's  angel  of  calmness  setting  within. 

It  was  in  November,  I  think,  that  I  first  began  to  feel 
uneasy  again  about  my  father,  from  a  very  unusual  symptom 
in  his  affairs  —  a  profusion  of  ready  money.     Three  or  four 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  221 

times,  when  I  applied  to  him  to  pay  the  house-bills  (and 
had  prepared  myself  for  the  old  evasions,  nay,  for  a  direct 
retort  that  I  might  advance  the  money  from  my  own 
annuity),  he  had  given  it  me  directly.  I  knew  at  the  time 
of  my  poor  mother's  funeral  he  had  hardly  enough  to  pay 
for  that  and  the  doctor's  expenses.  Where  had  the  money 
since  come  from  ?  The  oftener  I  thought  of  it,  the  more  I 
was  afraid  he  had  been  again  to  the  Jews. 

One  moi'ning,  about  this  time,  as  I  was  returning  home, 
I  saw  Felicien  Ismael  standing  at  the  door  of  old  Barac's 
apartment.  He  had  been  waiting  for  me  evidently,  for,  as 
I  approached,  he  came  forward  with  an  obsequious  bow, 
Avhile  Barac  retired  into  a  distant  room. 

"  Pon  chour,  mademoiselle.  I  am  proud  af  de  chance  dat 
make  me  for  to  zee  you.  Will  you  accord  me  five  minutes' 
entertain,  my  ponne  demoiselle  ?  " 

He  motioned  with  his  hand  to  signify  that  Monsieur 
Barac's  apartment  Avould  be  a  better  theatre  for  the  inter- 
view. I  thanked  him ;  I  would  listen  to  what  he  had  to  say 
there. 

"  Var  gut.  You  not  forget  dat  I  had  vonce  de  plaisir 
you  a  petite  service  to  render?  —  a  mere  pagatelle,  c'est 
vrai." 

"  I  remember  your  kindness  perfectly.  Monsieur  Ismael. 
Is  there  any  thing  I  can  do  for  you  now  ?  " 

"  Dere  is,  my  dear  mees  —  a  trifle  —  qui  ne  fous  coutera 
rien." 

"  What  is  it  ?     If  I  can,  I  shall  be  glad." 

"  Dere  is  one  var  fine  artist  af  my  acquaint,  who  ambi- 
tions to  produce  a  picshur  af  de  Sainte  Vierge  getting  up  de 
clouds.     He  want  a  model  for  she." 

"  Well,  Monsieur  Ismael,  and  what  then  ?  " 

"  He  desire  ardently  that  you  "would  pose  to  him.  Pauvre 
diaple !  his  fortune  is  made,  ven  you  so  gut  are." 

"  What  in  the  world  do  you  mean,  Monsieur  Ismael  ?  " 


222  kita: 

"  Mein  Gott,  it  is  clear,  mademoiselle.  He  zee  in  you  de 
true  picsbur  af  the  Sainte  Vierge,  and  —  " 

"  Nonsense,  Monsieur  Ismael.  You  must  think  me  very- 
vain,  to  make  such  an  extraordinary  proposition  to  me. 
This  is  not  your  friend's  only  object,  I  presume:  he  can 
find  hundreds  of  models  infinitely  better  suited  to  his  pur- 
pose. There  must  be  some  other  reason  for  his  wishino-  me 
to  sit  to  him.  What  is  it  ?  and  what  is  your  interest  in  the 
business  ?  " 

"  My  gut  mees,  I  am  open  as  de  heaven !  I  selbst  puy  de 
picshur.     I  make  my  honest  profit  on  him." 

"  Well.  That  is  not  all  ?  You  buy  the  picture  —  and 
then  ?  " 

"  He  go  trough  my  hand.  I  von  day  find  a  puyer  for  him, 
if  I  have  de  gut  luck." 

"  Perhaps  you  have  already  found  one  ?  " 

"  It  hangs  on  you,  mademoiselle,"  said  Ismael,  dropping 
an  additional  infusion  of  oil  into  the  hinges  of  his  discourse. 

"  I  think  I  begin  to  understand,"  I  replied.  "  There  is 
some  one  you  imagine  will  buy  this  picture  from  —  from  in 
short,  from  its  likeness  to  me  ?  " 

The  Jew  smiled  an  unctuous  smile,  and  rubbed  his 
jewelled  fingers,  half  in  perplexity  as  to  how  much  he 
should  reveal. 

"  Ho  pien,  oui,  ma  ponne  demoiselle.  Dere  is  one  var 
great  chui-ch  puilt  in  de  provinces  —  where  one  patron  of 
mine  —  one  var  gut  friend  —  is  de  grand  seigneur.  Man 
seeks  now  de  altar-piece  —  and  I  know  de  fancy  of  dis  great 
gut  gentleman,  dat  when  he  zee  —  " 

"  Enough  !  I  don't  wish  to  hear  who  the  grand  seigneur 
is,  or  any  thing  more.  I  can  lend  myself  to  nothing  of  the 
sort.  I  have  let  you  go  on  so  far,  for  I  was  curious,  I 
own,  to  unravel  the  mystery.  I  am  sorry  and  surprised, 
Monsieur  Ismael,  that  you  should  ever  have  asked  me  to  do 
this." 


AN   ATJTOBIOGKAPHT.  223 

"De  gut  Colonel,  your  pappa,  make  no  difficulties.  Tl 
nCa  meme  dit  de  fous  en  parler." 

rcoulcl  hardly  contain  my  indignation,  but  said,  as  quietly 
as  I  could,  "  I  am  afraid  you  see  too  much  of  my  father, 
Monsieur  Ismael.  We  will  talk  no  more  about  this  foolish 
business,  if  you  please ;  but  I  wanted  to  speak  to  you  —  to 
implore  you  not  to  advance  my  father  any  more  money. 
You  know  the  difficulty  of  his  repaying  it :  what  security 
you  have,  I  cannot  imagine." 

"  I  haf  not  done  buislmesh  vid  your  gut  pappa,  I  gif  my 
vord,  for  var  long  time.  Perhapsh  I  guesh  where  he  find  de 
monish.  Perhapsh,  who  knowsh?"  he  added,  with  a  grin, 
"  some  soon  day  you  vill  be  kinder  disposhed  to  gif  my  gut 
patron,  de  Marquis,  de  pleasure  of  your  face." 

I  thought  this  too  impertinent  to  be  answered,  and,  bow- 
ing coldly,  I  left  him,  and  went  up-stairs. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

At  Christmas  the  boys  came  home.  My  father  had,  at 
first,  said  they  must  spend  their  holidays  at  school.  "  It  was 
great  ti'ouble  and  expense  for  six  weeks."  (I  could  not  help 
smiling  bitterly  to  hear  him  talk  of  expense  —  when  it  suited 
him.)  I  urged  the  point,  however,  so  strongly,  that  he  con- 
sented, and  they  came.  They  were  good,  tractable  boys, 
very  unlike  Ernest  in  every  way,  and  I  found  it  easy  to  gain 
an  ascendency  over  them.  I  was  maternal  and  authorita- 
tive as  to  their  daily  holiday-tasks;  but,  these  over,  they 
treated  me  as  their  friend  and  companion,  to  whom  they  told 
every  thing  —  their  secret  thoughts  and  school-time  joys  and 
troubles ;  above  all,  their  separate  ambitions  for  the  future. 
Roger,  the  least  clever  of  the  two,  had  a  strong  predilection 
for  the  navy.  He  was  always  drawing  ships  and  rigging  a 
little  boat  he  had,  and  solemnly  declared  he  would  never  be 
any  thing  but  a  sailor.  "What  my  father's  views  might  be,  I 
knew  not,  but  I  saw  no  objection  ;  on  the  contrary,  it  was  the 
best  thing  for  him  to  enter  a  profession  early,  make  a  path 
for  himself,  and  be  independent  of  every  one.  The  wish  of 
Arthur's  heart  —  to  be  a  clergyman  —  presented  more  difii- 
culty  of  realization.  I  turned  over  in  my  mind  for  some  time 
how  a  college  education  could  be  accomplished.  I  was  afraid 
that  the  trustees  of  my  aunt's  will,  who  were  rigid  in  its 
interpretation,  might  object  to  allow  the  legacy,  due  on  his 
coming  of  age,  to  be  forestalled  in  paying  for  the  necessary 
expenses.    As  much  of  my  small  annuity  as  I  could  save 

(224) 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  225 

should  be  devoted  to  this  object ;  but  it  would,  after  all, 
amount  to  a  trifling  sum ;  and  I  could  not  but  foresee  the 
probabilities  of  my  having  some  urgent,  imperative  call  for 
these  savings  in  the  interim.  There  was  nothing  to  be 
done,  however,  but  to  await  the  workings  of  time.  Per- 
haps Rose  might  do  something  by-and-by  for  her  favorite 
brother. 

"We  walked  early  one  morning,  my  brothers  and  I,  to  a 
certain  pond  near  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  that  Roger  might 
launch  his  boat.  It  was  a  mild,  still  winter's  morning. 
There  had  been  a  long  frost,  and  now  it  had  been  thawing 
for  two  days.  The  sky  was  like  a  dim  opal,  flecked  with 
thin  white  clouds ;  none  of  the  spirit  of  wind  in  it.  The 
sun  shone  out  weakly  now  and  then,  and  a  blue  veil  of  mist 
hung  over  the  distant  wood,  making  the  near  trees  look  yet 
browner.  The  leaves  no  longer  crackled  under  one's  feet, 
but  lay  damp  and  flattened  on  the  path,  in  spots  of  scarlet 
and  yellow. 

We  were  near  the  pond,  and  the  boys  had  run  forward  to 
find  a  place  where  they  could  thrust  out  their  boats  from  the 
bank,  when  I  heard  the  sharp  canter  of  a  horse  on  the  road 
behind  us.  His  rider  apparently  reined  him  in  as  he  ap- 
proached. I  did  not  turn  round,  but  I  was  sensible  of  the 
fact  from  the  prolonged  snort,  the  chafing  of  the  bit,  and  the 
measured  click  of  the  hoof  in  the  soft  wet  road.  Just  then, 
a  country-girl  passed  me,  laden  with  violets  for  the  Paris 
market.  Their  fragrance  was  very  seductive,  and  I  looked 
longingly  at  them,  for  I  had  always  a  passion  for  violets ;  but 
I  had  not  a  sou  in  my  pocket,  and  walked  on.  The  horse- 
man dismounted,  and  called  to  the  girl.  I  started.  Was  it 
not  a  voice  I  knew  ?  He  threw  the  bridle  over  his  arm,  and 
following  me,  said,  in  a  low  tone, 

"Will  Miss  Percival  allow  me  to  offer  her  these  flow- 
ers ?  •' 

It  was  Lord  Rawdon.      I  stood  still,  and  all  power  of 

15 


22G  KiTA : 

speech  seemed  to  leave  me.  He  was  pale  and  haggard,  and 
I  saw  that  his  arm  was  still  in  a  sling.  It  brought  a  rush  of 
recollections  back,  and  with  tliem  a  sense  of  what  was  due  to 
him  from  me.     I  held  out  my  hand. 

"  Forgive  me,  Lord  Rawdon.  I  am  not  very  strong  —  my 
nerves  have  been  much  shaken  of  late  —  and  the  surprise  of 
seeing  you  almost  paralyzed  me,  I  think.  You  look  ill.  I 
am  afraid  you  have  suffered  much,  and  I  am  very,  very  sorry 
to  see  your  arm  is  still  disabled." 

"  It  is  almost  worth  having  gone  through  it  all  to  hear 
you  say  so,  though  I  suppose  it 's  only  a  conventional  ex- 
pression of  compassion  —  Avhat  you  would  feel  if  one  of 
Franconi's  men  were  spilt,  eh  ?  Miss  Percival,  I  have  been 
in  Paris  a  fortnight,  and  during  that  time  I  have  walked 
and  ridden  round  and  round  your  house,  hoping  to  see  you, 
till  I  believe  the  gendarmes  began  to  suspect  me  of  bur- 
glarious intentions.  I  did  n't  call,  for  I  heard  it  was  no  use 
—  that  you  would  n't  see  any  one ;  and  your  father  is  not 
wrapped  up  in  me,  as  you  are  aware.  You  never  left  the 
house,  that  I  could  make  out,  till  this  morning,  when  I 
thought  of  ordering  my  horse  an  hour  before  the  Paris  world 
is  awake.     I  am  repaid." 

His  manner,  which  was  always  strange,  seemed  to  me 
stranger  than  ever.  His  voice  was  hard  and  hoarse,  as  one 
who  has  known  no  rest,  and  there  was  a  tremulousness  in 
certain  accents,  which,  when  I  looked  at  his  wild,  fierce  eyes, 
made  me  feel  any  thing  but  comfortable. 

"  I  am  glad  you  chanced  to  meet  me,"  said  I,  not  choosing 
to  understand  him,  but  desirous  of  appearing  at  my  ease. 
"  I  have  often  wished  to  see  you  since  that  disastrous  meet- 
ing, to  explain  to  you  the  strange  circumstances  under  which 
you  saw  me  that  night.  I  do  not  know  —  I  mean,  I  am 
sure,  you  only  thought,  at  the  time,  like  a  chivalrous  gentle- 
man, as  you  proved  yourself;  but  afterwards  it  must  often 
have  occurred  to  you  as  strange." 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  227 

"  Not  at  all.  I  cleared  the  mystery  for  myself.  I  went 
back  to  the  house  and  questioned  the  porter,  and  after  that 
witd'^oung  fellow,  De  Vailly,  had  winged  me,  he  had  the 
good  taste  to  own  that  he  had  never  seen  you  before,  and 
had  no  idea  who  you  wei'e." 

"I  thank  you,  Lord  Rawdon,  sincerely,  but  you  caused 
me  a  great  deal  of  misery  by  that  unhappy  duel.  Do  you 
still  suffer  much  ?  " 

"  Suffer ! "  he  exclaimed,  looking  tlu'ough  me  with  that 
burning  eye  of  his.  "  Come,  you  shall  hear  something  of 
what  I  have  suffered  —  of  what  I  still  suffer.  Do  you 
remember  that  first  night  we  met?  I  believe  I  am  a 
changed  man  since  then." 

"  I  hope  we  are  both  changed  since  then,"  I  replied, 
gravely. 

"  But  it  is  not  a  change  for  the  better  in  me,  I  tell  you.  I 
suffer  from  the  fierce  torture  of  a  passion  I  never  felt  before. 
I  have  struggled  for  months  to  drive  your  image  from  my 
heart,  for  I  knew  you  did  n't^care  for  me.  I  thought  that 
absence  —  and  then,  fool  that  I  was  !  —  the  old  reckless  life, 
and  the  smiles  of  other  women,  fairer  by  fai^  would  force 
mc,  in  time,  to  forget  you.  I  wrestled  with  my  passion  till 
it  wore  my  very  vitals.  It  has  made  me  the  wretched- 
looking  creature  you  see  —  not  my  wound  —  don't  fancy 
that.  And  if  this  is  not  enough,  know  further,  that  I  suffer 
—  though  I  have  never  owned.it  to  mortal  befoi-e  —  from 
the  torments  of  an  uneasy  conscience,  and  because  I  be- 
lieve in  so  little  that  is  good  here  —  in  nothing  happy 
hereafter ! " 

"  God  help  you,  then,  for  vain  is  the  help  of  man  !  "With- 
out hope,  this  life  would  be  insupportable.  It  is  a  long  and 
a  dark  and  dreary  way  to  many  of  us  —  a  succession  of  falls, 
as  some  one  says  —  but  we  should  get  ud  each  time  trying 
to  see  the  light  at  the  end  briditer." 

"Mud  we  are  and  unto  mud  shall  we  return!     That  is 


228  KiTA : 

the  only  future  we  can  be  certain  of..  I  have  no  faith  now ; 
I  am  a  useless  mass,  cumbering  the  earth." 

"  It  grieves  me  to  hear  you,"  I  said,  "  disavowing  that 
imperisliable  part  of  yourself,  which  is  no  more  part  of 
the  earth  than  the  mist  yonder  is  of  the  hill  it  colors.  You 
do  yourself  great  wrong.  You  have  naturally  fine  quali- 
ties of  heart  —  great  mental  gifts  —  why  waste  and  abuse 
them  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Marguerite  —  I  must  call  you  so  once  —  do  you  not 
feel  it  is  in  your  power,  and  youi's  only,  to  lift  me  up  from 
this  mire  —  to  lead  me  to  pm-er  and  better  things?  My 
God  !  what  woman  ever  had  the  influence  over  a  man  you 
would  have  ?  With  you,  perhaps,  I  might  learn  the  way  to 
heaven :  without  you,  I  must  live  out  this  hell  on  earth  until 
I  find  oblivion  in  the  grave." 

"  You  strangely  deceive  yourself.  Lord  Rawdon.  I  am 
too  little  of  a  saint  to  help  any  one.  I  need,  on  the  contrary, 
a  firm,  strong  hand  to  prevent  me  from  falling." 

"I  tell  you,  there  may  be  other  Avomen  better,  wiser  — 
you  are  the  only  one  for  me.  Marguerite,  that  first  night 
we  met,  I  was  idiot  enough  to  ask  you  jestingly  the  gravest 
question  a  man  can  put  to  a  woman.  God  knows,  in  a  very 
different  spirit  —  with  the  strength  and  fervor  of  my  whole 
soul  —  I  now  repeat  it." 

"  I  answer  as  I  did  then." 

"Have  pity  on  me,  Marguerite.  Consider  this  is  all  I 
live  for  now.  Give  me  time  —  give  me  hope.  You  said 
that  without  it  life  was  insupportable." 

"  I  spoke  of  a  hope  no  one  can  take  away.  Alas  !  Lord 
Eawdon,  as  regards  myself,  I  can  give  you  none.  You  ask 
why  ?  But  you  supplied  the  best  reason  yourself  just  now 
—  the  only  insurmountable  one  a  woman  can  give  —  that  I 
do  not  love  you.  I  wish  I  could  be  to  you  as  a  sister, 
but  that  has  passed  into  a  conventional  phrase,  and  means 
nothing ;    or  rather,  constituted  as  society  is,  it  means  an 


AN    ATJTOBIOGRArHY.  229 

impossibility.  Friendship  and  gratitude  are  cold  words,  but 
I  shall   always  feel  a  true,  deep  interest  in  your  welfare 

l"  don't  mean  your  worldly  welfare,  of  course  —  I  mean 

your  soul's.  I  hope  and  pray  that  you  may  become  a 
better  and  a  happier  man.  I  have  no  right  to  preach,  as  I 
have  already  said,  nor  have  I  the  inclination  —  but  I  do 
earnestly  hope  —  " 

"Marguerite,  Marguerite,  you  don't  know  what  you  are 
doing,  to  drive  a  man  like  me  desperate.  Tell  me  — 
promise  me,  at  least,  that  you  will  not  be  persuaded  into 
marrying  that  old  Frenchman.  I  see  the  web  gathering 
round  you :  I  know  the  danger  that  threatens,  and  the 
hand  that  directs  all  the  threads  of  it ;  but  I  shall  be  there, 
at  hand,  watching  over,  and  ready  to  defend  you,  if  you  will 
only  let  me." 

"  There  is  no  danger  of  my  being  persuaded  to  marry  the 
Marquis  d'Ofort,  or  any  one  whom  my  heart  does  not 
choose,  thank  you.     I  can  promise  you  that,  safely." 

"We  stood  by  the  glassy  pond,  on  which  Roger  had 
already  launched  his  boat,  both  boys  being  too  much  en- 
grossed to  pay  much  attention  to  my  companion.  They 
clapped  their  hands,  exultant,  as  the  keel  cleft  the  waters, 
and  the  miniature  frigate  rode  gallantly  forwards.  Then  a 
little  puff  of  wind  caught  it,  and  it  drifted  towards  a  mud- 
bank  :  its  masts  got  entangled  in  the  reeds  and  rushes,  and 
it  capsized. 

"  Is  not  that  an  emblem  of  my  life  ? "  said  Rawdon, 
gloomily,  "  Look  there,  the  toy  will  till  with  water,  and 
must  sink." 

"  Come,"  I  answered,  smiling,  "  walk  round  to  that  point, 
and  stretch  out  your  riding-whip.  You  will  easily  set  it 
right.  The  type  is  not  a  true  one  —  the  poor  boat  could  n't 
steer  itself,  nor  extricate  itself,  when  once  entangled." 

He  recovered  it,  and  the  boys,  in  their  frank,  hearty  way, 
thanked  the  dark  gentleman  for  his  kindness. 


230  EITA : 

"  It  is  nearly  eleven  o'clock,  Roger ;  we  must  be  going 
home.  Get  up  on  your  horse,  Lord  Rawdon,  and  oblige  me 
by  turning  his  head  in  that  direction.  And,  if  you  would 
not  depi'ive  me  of  the  only  pleasure  I  have  —  my  early 
walks  —  you  will  not  try  and  repeat  this  meeting." 

I  held  out  my  hand  once  again  :  he  seized  it,  and  looked 
into  my  face  with  wild,  regretful  eyes,  and  before  I  knew 
what  he  was  doing,  he  pressed  my  fingers  passionately  to 
his  lips. 

He  spoke  no  word,  and  the  next  moment  was  upon  his 
horse,  and  galloping  down  a  by-road  in  the  wood. 

"  Who  is  that  gentleman,  Rity  ?  and  why  does  he  have 
his  arm  in  a  sling  ?  " 

"  He  is  a  friend  who  once  did  me  a  great  service,  Roger, 
and  he  has  been  badly  wounded." 

"  What  makes  him  kiss  your  hand  in  that  funny  way  ?  " 

"  As  to  that,  it  is  a  foolish  way  some  peojile  have  of 
wishing  good-by.  —  Dear  boys,  I  have  never  asked  you  to 
keep  a  secret,  have  I  ?  but  I  have  reasons  for  not  wishing 
you  ever  to  speak  about  this  gentleman,  or  allude  to  him  in 
any  way.     I  can  depend  on  you,  I  know." 

But  the  precaution  was  vain  :  exactly  what  I  least 
wished  had  come  to  pass.  Half  an  hour  after  I  re- 
turned home  my  father  entered  my  room.  I  read  in  his 
face  immediately  that  something  had  occurred  to  make  him 
angry. 

'"  You  are  certainly  the  strangest  girl,"  he  began.  "  I 
never  could  understand  you."  (I  thought  he  had  never 
taken  much  pains.)  '  You  're  a  mass  of  hypocrisy,  I  be- 
lieve. Here  you  pretend  to  be  in  such  grief  that  you  can't 
see  any  one,  and  I  find  you  are  seen  out  walking,  before 
breakfast,  with  that  d — d  fellow  Rawdon.  What  the  devil 
do  you  mean  by  it  ?  Have  you  no  regard  for  the  world's 
opinion  ?  Are  you  become  perfectly  indifferent  as  to  what 
people  say  of  you  ?  " 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  231 

Time  was  when  I  should  have  repUed,  "  You  have  shown 
yourself  very  indifferent  to  what  the  world  has  said  of  me 
alrekdy  ;  "  but  I  only  bowed  my  head. 
«  Well  ?    What  have  you  to  say  ?  " 

"  Very  little.  I  was  walking,  and  Lord  Eawdon  joined 
me.  There  was  no  intention,  on  my  part,  of  meeting.  I 
greeted  him,  as  I  should  any  one  else  I  know  well ;  and 
when  I  asked  him  to  ride  on,  he  did  so." 

"  Not  until  he  had  kissed  your  hand.  I  have  it  from  an 
eye-witness.  Do  you  allow  all  casual  acquaintances  you 
meet  to  do  that?  " 

"  No.  He  is  not  a  casual  acquaintance." 
"  Perhaps,  as  your  father,  I  may  be  allowed  to  ask  if  — 
if  you're  engaged  to  this  madman?  —  a  wild,  unprincipled 
fellow,  who  has  already  run  through  more  than  half  his 
fortune  "  —  (Oh,  world  !  world  !)  —  "  his  estates  heavily 
mortgaged,  and  this  year,  at  Baden,  he  lost  more  than 
twenty  thousand  pounds  at  play,  I  hear." 

"  That  would  indeed  be  enough  to  deter  me  from  marrying 
Lord  Rawdon,  if  I  had  not  already  refused  him,"  I  replied, 
with  an  irrepressible  touch  of  sarcasm. 

"  To  be  seen  with  him  is  enough  to  ruin  all  your  pros- 
pects in  life." 
"  I  have  none." 

He  turned  away  with  an  impetuous  "Pshaw!"  then 
suddenly  exclaimed,  "  How  long,  may  I  ask,  do  you  propose 
remaining  shut  up  in  this  absurd  way,  without  seeing  any 
one?  —  except  in  your  morning  walks,  that  is  to  say. 
There's  reason  in  every  thing.  Your  poor  mother  has  been 
dead  six  months.  It's  such  d — d  affectation  in  a  girl  of 
your  age  pretending  you  can't  go  out.  But  you've  no 
consideration  for  me'' 

"  I  would  do  any  thing  in  the  world  to  make  you  happy 
at  home,  father.  I  don't  think  my  going  out  could  con- 
tribute to  your  comfort  in  the  least.     You  did  n't  think  so 


232  KiTA : 

last  year,  you  know :  you  preferred  my  going  out  with  some 
one  else." 

"  I  should  like  to  have  two  or  three  friends  at  dinner 
sometimes  —  but  you  'd  go  and  shut  yourself  up,  I  suppose, 
if  I  did?" 

"I  think,  with  your  means,  you  can  ill  afford  to  give 
dinner  entertainments.  We  never  did  so  m  my  dear 
mother's  lifetime,  father." 

"  Oh,  my  affairs  are  in  a  better  state  now ;  the  money 
market  is  looking  up.  By-the-by,  come  out  and  take  a  walk 
with  me  this  afternoon." 

Nothing  could  be  more  distasteful  to  me,  but  I  would  not 
refuse ;  and,  like  many  a  conscientious  act  in  this  world  — 
spite  of  what  moralists  say  —  the  result  did  not  bring  its 
reward.  My  father  took  me  up  the  Champs  Elysees  just  at 
the  hour  when  it  is  most  crowded ;  he  bowing,  nodding, 
stopping  to  button  some  one  at  every  three  or  four  paces.  I 
kept  my  thick  black  veil  down,  looking  neither  to  the  right 
nor  to  the  left,  and  yet  I  felt  quite  giddy  and  bewildered 
with  the  constant  tide  of  faces  flowing  past  me.  Presently 
we  met  —  accidentally,  of  course  —  a  line  of  venerable 
French  dandies,  midmost  among  whom  was  the  Mai-quis 
d'Ofort.  He  wore  a  coat  much  padded  across  the  chest,  and 
giving  occasion  for  many  gilt  buttons  ;  and  upon  his  head  a 
bat  exceedingly  curled  in  the  brim,  and  poised  at  such  an 
inclination  over  the  right  ear,  that  it  seemed  ready  to  topple 
over.  If  I  felt  inclined  to  laugh  the  first  moment  I  saw 
him,  the  feeling  very  soon  gave  place  to  a  dead  and  dreary 
despair,  when,  after  a  cordial  greeting  to  his  "bon  ami  —  ce 
brave  Colonel,"  and  an  elaborate  salutation  to  me,  he  left 
his  brethren  and  joined  us  in  our  walk.  I  thought  that 
walk  never  would  come  to  an  end.  I  was  reduced  to  such 
a  state  of  mental  nausea  and  exhaustion  at  last  (at  the  end 
of  a  second  hour,  I  believe),  that  I  was  obliged  to  beg  my 
father  would  take  me  home ;  and  when  I  heard  him  request 


AN    AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  233 

the  favor  of  the  Marquis's  company  at  dinner  on  the  follow- 
ing Sunday,  I  would  rather  have  been  condemned  to  pass 
that  day  at  the  treadmill. 

"  We  shall  he  four  at  dinner,"  said  my  father,  as  we  were 
going  up  stairs  ;  "  you  will  make  preparations  accordingly." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

Three  days  after  that  walk  —  it  was  on  a  Monday  or  a 
Tuesday  —  Arthur  ran  into  my  room  with  a  note  in  his 
hand. 

"  Rity,  here's  something  for  you.  As  I  was  spinning  my 
top  outside  there,  that  dark  gentleman  rode  up  and  gave  me 
this,  and  told  me  to  be  sure  and  give  it  to  you  yourself. 
And  then  he  said  if  I  was  spinnhig  my  top  to-morrow,  he 
would  be  sure  and  bring  me  something.  I  hope  he  won't 
forget." 

The  note  was  written  in  blotted  characters  —  almost 
illegible  in  parts.     It  ran  thus  : 

"I  have  spent  days  and  nights  of  passionate,  fevered 
restlessness  since  I  saw  you.  I  should  go  mad  if  I  really 
believed  it  was  my  irrevocable  fate  that  I  learned  from  your 
lips.  It  shall  not  he.  Who  is  there  to  watch  over  you,  — 
who  is  there  to  lay  down  his  life  for  you,  but  I?  Oh! 
worthless  and  reprobate  that  I  am,  yet  I  love  you  as  never 
man  loved.  And  I,  alone,  see  all  the  dark  threads  weaving 
round  you,  poor  child  !  You  know  nothing  of  them,  and  yet 
you  must  break  through  this  net,  and  it  cannot  be  done  by 
sitting  still.  Let  me  see  you,  if  it  be  but  for  five  minutes. 
You  have  not  walked  out  these  three  mornings ;  perhaps 
you  are  not  allowed.  Your  father,  I  suppose,  was  warned 
of  our  meeting,  for,  as  I  rode  away,  I  found  I  had  been 
followed  and  watched.     I  put  a  stop  to  that  forever.     It  will 

(234) 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  235 

not  happen  again.  I  promise  not  to  say  a  word  of  myself 
if  you  will  see  me,  Marguerite.  But  whether  you  Avill  or 
not,  you  cannot  prevent  my  watching  over  you :  and  sooner 
or  later  we  must  meet,  before  the  drama  is  played  out. 

"  R." 

The  writer's  state  gave  me  mucli  more  uneasiness,  as  I 
read  this,  than  any  fears  for  myself.  Painful  and  annoying 
as  the  persecution  was  to  which  I  was  subjected  (and  of 
course  the  "  dark  threads"  could  only  have  reference  to  this), 
the  days  of  lock  and  key  and  forced  marriages  were  passed. 
Rawdon's  heated  imagination  invested  my  position  with  un- 
necessary terrors.  I  wished  I  had  some  wise  and  gentle 
woman-friend,  who  would  have  gone  on  an  errand  of  mercy 
from  me,  and  endeavored  to  soothe  the  irritated  state  of  his 
mind.  But  I  had  none.  I  could  only  sit  still  and  tremble 
for  what  I  might  hear  next ;  and  tell  my  little  brother  to 
say  there  was  "  no  answer,"  for,  of  course,  I  could  not  see 
him,  and  writing  was  worse  than  useless. 

My  father's  conduct  towards  me  had  undergone  a  sensible 
change  during  these  three  days.  I  was  no  longer  completely 
"  lef '  to  my  own  'vices,"  as  Betsy  expressed  it ;  and  in  this 
she  approved  (for  the  first  time  in  lier  life)  of  my  father's 
conduct :  holding,  like  most  of  her  class,  solitude  to  be  a 
slow  poison,  and  any  sort  of  society  a  wholesome  antidote 
thereto.  My  father  made  me  walk  with  him  daily  ;  my  only 
stipulation  being  that  the  boys  should  accompany  us ;  and 
though  he  resisted  this  strongly,  saying  it  was  like  "  taking 
out  a  school,"  he  yielded  when  I  reminded  him  that  they 
had  only  another  week  to  be  at  home.  I  skilfully  managed 
in  these  walks  that  the  boys  should  be  between  me  and  the 
Marquis,  who  invariably  joined  us ;  but  my  father's  evident 
efforts  to  force  the  society  of  that  venerable  nobleman  upon 
me  were  not  confined  to  these  occasions.  The  same  day 
that  I  received  Rawdon's  note,  my  father  sent  for  me  into 


23  G  RITA: 

the  drawing-room.  I  found  the  Marquis  there,  come  to  pay 
his  "  homages,"  and  to  place  the  Minister  of  State's  opera- 
box  at  my  disposal  that  night :  it  was  perfectly  "  covenable" 
he  assured  me,  "  to  assister  en  deuil."  I  thanked  him ;  I 
went  out  nowhere  ;  the  Grand  Opera  I  particularly  disliked ; 
I  was  occupied  just  now,  would  he  excuse  me  ?  and  I  curt- 
seyed out  of  the  room.  I  flatter  myself  that  I  was  ladylike 
and  civil ;  but  it  would  be  paying  my  manner  a  compliment 
to  call  it  icy,  for  ice  will  melt,  and  nothing  would  have  melted 
me. 

Five  minutes  later  my  father  entered  my  room :  he  was 
pale  with  anger. 

"  Upon  my  life,  you  treat  my  friends  in  the  most  de  haut 
en  has  manner,  Rita.  I  can  tell  you  you  are  very  much 
mistaken  if  you  think  I  shall  allow  it.  Things  are  not  going 
on  in  this  way  forever." 

"  I  hope  not." 

"You've  had  a  great  deal  too  much  of  your  own  way, 
young  lady.  Henceforward  you  will  be  good  enough  to  un- 
derstand that  you  are  to  receive  my  friends  civilly,  and  just 
as  many  as  I  choose,  or  you  shall  go  out  again  into  the 
world.     If  not,  by  G— d  — " 

"  Father,  father,  remember  my  mother.  I  am  not  fit  to 
see  strangers,  or  mix  in  the  world  in  any  way  just  now.  In 
the  spring,  perhaps,  when  Rose  has  asked  me  to  go  to  Eng- 
land on  a  visit,  I  may  —  " 

"  No  ;  I  tell  you  that  won't  do.  It  does  'nt  suit  my  plans 
that  you  should  go  to  England  and  marry  a  country  curate 
with  forty  pounds  a  year,  which  is  just  what  you  would  do, 
with  your  romantic  ideas.  I  shall  probably  take  you  to 
Baden  in  the  summer,  and  my  friend,  d'Ofort,  will  accom- 
pany us.  So,  in  the  mean  time,  I  desire  that  you  will  curb 
that  confounded  temper  of  yours,  and  not  be  so  surly  to  him. 
He  is  a  most  liberal  old  fellow,  and  quite  the  vieille  cour  — 
one  of  the  oldest  families  in  France  —  what  more  do  you 
want?" 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  237 

"  Why,  even  for  a  mere  acquaintance  a  little  more  might 
be  desirable  ;  for  a  husband,  a  good  deal." 

"  It"  strikes  me  you  expect  a  good  deal  more  than  you  will 
get,  and  that  you  '11  be  a  very  hard  bargain  to  whoever  you 
accept  at  last.  The  fact  is,  your  head  was  completely 
turned  last  year  by  that  d — d  fellow  Rawdon,  and  your 
puritanical  admirer,  Mr.  Rochford,  who  filled  you  with 
absurd  ideas,  and  then  rode  off —  which  showed  he  was 
more  sensible  than  I  gave  him  credit  for ;  and  I  believe,  if 
the  truth  was  known,,  you  're  pining  after  him,  instead  of 
thinking  how  you  can  settle  yourself  respectably  in  life." 

I  looked  my  father  full  in  the  face,  though  my  voice 
quivered,  and  I  said,  "  If  by  setthng  respectably  you  mean 
marrying  an  old  man  of  the  worst  character  (for  whom  I 
feel  the  most  profound  disgust  and  contempt)  because  he  is 
wealthy  and  highly  born,  I  do  not  understand  the  term  as 
you  do.  Let  it  be  distinctly  understood  that  the  Marquis 
d'Ofort  comes  here  as  your  friend,  not  as  having  any  thing 
to  say  to  me,  and  I  will  try  and  endure  his  presence." 

"  Very  filial,  really.  Now,  be  so  good  as  to  put  on  your 
bonnet  and  come  out  with  me." 

My  father's  mouth  was  set  into  that  hard  and  dogged  ex- 
pression I  knew  it  always  wore  when  he  was  bent  on  carry- 
ing something  through,  without  pity  or  compunction.  When 
we  were  in  the  street,  instead  of  turning,  as  usual,  into  the 
Champs  Elysees,  he  strode  out  in  the  opposite  direction, 
into  the  labyrinths  of  the  Chaussee  d'Antin.  We  stopped 
at  last  before  the  door  of  a  handsome  house,  and  my  father 
pulled  the  beU. 

"  Father,  where  are  we  going  ?  " 

"  To  pay  a  visit." 

«  To  whom  ?  " 

"  To  invite  our  second  guest  at  dinner  to-morrow." 

"  If  you  please,  I  will  remain  in  that  shop  the  while." 

"  But  I  dont  please.     I  insist  on  your  coming  up-stairs. 


238  RITA : 

You  need  'nt  be  afraid  ;  it  is  no  one  who  will  fall  in  love  with 
you;  but  I'd  advise  you  to  make  yourself  as  pleasant  as 
you  can." 

"I  never  pay  visits,  and  really,  father,  I  beg  —  to  a 
person  I  don't  know  —  " 

"  Don't  know  ?  but  you  must  know  her,"  almost  shouted 
my  father.  I  was  really  terrified  at  the  violence  of  his 
manner.  He  grasped  ray  ai-m,  and  half  dragged  me  up- 
stairs. Further  discussion  was  useless,  and  would  only  have 
led  to  greater  irritation  on  his  part ;  there  was  nothing  to  be 
done  but  to  yield  with  as  good  grace  as  I  could.  A  dim 
suspicion  flashed  on  me  as  to  whom  I  was  brought  here  to 
visit,  —  that  mysterious  figure  in  the  background,  of  whom 
I  had  more  than  once  had  a  hint  as  influencing  largely  my 
father's  conduct  and  opinions. 

He  pulled  the  bell  of  the  entresol :  a  servant  in  livery 
opened  the  door.  No  question  was  asked,  no  name  men- 
tioned :  my  father,  drawing  my  arm  through  his,  passed  in. 
We  entered  a  large,  low  salon,  richly  decorated  in  white 
and  gold,  at  the  further  end  of  which  sat  a  lady,  who  might 
be  described  in  somewhat  similar  terms.  For  she  was 
rather  large,  and  not  very  tall,  and  dressed  in  a  white  Turk- 
ish peignoir,  embroidei'ed  in  gold  down  the  front  and  sleeves. 
I  instantly  recognized  her  as  the  person  I  had  seen  on  my 
father's  arm  at  Marshal  Soult's  ball.  The  countenance  was 
strangely  and  indelibly  impressed  on  my  memory.  De- 
praved Roman  empresses  had  come  to  me,  formerly,  over 
my  history,  somewhat  after  this  likeness ;  the  same  low 
brows,  and  bands  of  snake-like  hair,  bold,  handsome  eyes, 
hard,  aquiline  nose,  so  white  and  sharply  cut,  the  same  over- 
full sweep  of  the  inferior  lip,  showing  such  lines  of  brilliant 
teeth  when  she  laughed.  It  was  a  magnificent  head,  cer- 
tainly, but  I  should  have  preferred  positive  ugliness.  There 
was  something  in  the  expression  of  her  eyes  that  sent  a 
shiver  through  me,  and  by  the  triumph  that  glittered  there, 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  239 

I  know  that  she  saw  at  a  glance  what  I  felt,  while  her  man- 
ner became  still  more  sleek  and  feline.  She  came  forward, 
holding  out  both  her  hands,  and  drew  me  to  the  sofa  on 
which  she  had  been  sitting  when  we  entered. 

"  Madame  de  Barrenes,  I  have  brought  you  my  daughter, 
whom  you  were  kind  enough  to  wish  to  know." 

"  I  have,  indeed,  long  desired  it."  (She  spoke  in  French.) 
"  That  dear  colonel  promised  some  time  ago  to  bring  you, 
but  you  know  how  faithless  he  is  !  I  dare  say  he  never  said 
a  word  to  you  about  it.  Dear  child !  I  would  not  intrude 
myself  on  your  affliction,  knowing  —  In  short,  women  under- 
stand these  things  better  than  men,  otherwise  I  would  have 
come  and  mingled  my  tears  with  yours.  I  hope  our  friend- 
ship may  ripen  fast ;  there  is  something  syynpathetic  in  our 
natures,  I  am  sure.  I  adore  books ;  if  it  were  not  for  my 
hterary  pui'suits  my  life  would  be  very  di-eary.  Would  you 
like  to  see  my  article  on  the  '  Expansion  of  the  Soul,'  in  the 
Trois  Mondes  ?  My  taste,  I  confess,  is  somewhat  an  abstruse 
one  for  a  woman,  but  I  occupy  myself  solely  with  philosophy 
and  moral  development "  (my  eye  caught  the  words,  "  par 
Paul  de  Kock,"  on  the  back  of  a  volume  that  protruded 
from  a  sofa-cushion  beside  me),  "and  never  read  the  de- 
praved literature  of  the  day.  Ilave  you  read  Victor  Cou- 
sin's last  work  ?     No  ?     Ah  !  you  have  a  treat  there." 

My  father  looked  rather  bored  while  this  was  going  on,  as 
if  it  was  not  the  sort  of  thing  to  which  he  was  accustomed, 
and  that  we  might  be  spared  it.  But  madame  was  not  to 
be  baulked  of  her  morality ;  so  I  sat  at  the  edge  of  the  sofa, 
looking  very  foolish,  with  my  hands  in  madame's,  while  she 
continued : 

"  Are  you  fond  of  the  drama,  chere  petite  ?  Ah  !  I  quite 
understand,  —  the  plays  they  give  here  generally  are  so 
unsuited  for  a  young  girl.  A  friend  of  mine  has  sent  me  a 
box  to  see  the  first  representation  of  a  comedy  of  his  to-mor- 
row evening  at  the  Theatre-Fran9ais.     At  the   Fran5ais, 


240  RITA : 

every  thing  is  irreproachable ;  un  peu  lourd,  peut-etre,  mais 
tout  ce  qu'il  y  a  de  plus  moral.  —  Will  you  do  me  the  pleas- 
ure to  accompany  me  ?  " 

"  By-the-by,"  cut  in  my  father,  "  we  came  expressly  to 
ask  you  to  dine  with  us  to-morrow,  chere  Comtesse." 

"  Enchanted  ;  and  the  play  afterwards.  It  will  be  a  fete 
for  me,  who  so  seldom  go  into  the  world  !  I  lead  the  life  of 
a  recluse,  my  dear.  I  hope  you  will  come  often  to  my  little 
hermitage.  How  like  you  she  is,  colonel !  Just  that  proud 
English  air.  But  you  must  not  remain  shut  up  in  this  way, 
dear  child ;  you  must  conquer  your  feelings.  Ah  !  I  know 
what  that  is  too  well !  —  but  for  the  sake  of  c^  cher  papa 
you  must  make  the  exertion.  Those  cheeks  are  too  pale. 
I  should  recommend  a  little  gris  lilac  under  the  bonnet ;  all 
that  black  is  so  unbecoming  !  Ah  !  by-the-by,  cher  colonel, 
have  you  heard  this  dreadful  report  about  the  Galoffska  ?  — 
pauvre  Galoffska ! " 

"  No.  What  is  it  ?  I  had  a  note  from  her  two  or  three 
days  ago  ; "  and  my  father  glanced  towards  me. 

"  Found  poisoned  in  bed  this  morning,  with  the  bottle  of 
laudanum  in  her  hand.  They  say  she  killed  herself  j^artly 
from  jealousy  of  that  roue  milord  —  that  she  had  a  terrible 
scene  with  him  yesterday.  Ah !  look  you,  the  women  who 
lead  these  dreadful  lives  always  come  to  some  bad  end." 

"  By  G — d  !  how  shocking !  I  dare  say  that  blackguard 
Eawdon  has  been  entirely  the  cause  of  it." 

"  Who  knows  ?  "  responded  madame,  shrugging  her  shoul- 
ders. "  Her  debts,  on  dit,  are  enormous.  As  milord  gam- 
bled, and  has  lost  so  much,  perhaps  she  supphed  him  with 
money,  poor  thing ! " 

My  indignation  here  overcame  my  repugnance  to  speak. 

"  I  will  answer  for  it  that  is  not  true.  Lord  Rawdon  has 
faults  and  follies  enough,  but  he  is  a  true  gentleman.  No 
one  who  is  such  would  accept  a  woman's  money  for  his  own 
vicious  pursuits." 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  241 

Madame  de  Barrenes  gave  my  father  a  peculiar  look,  and 
a  half-inward  smile  flitted  over  her  features,  but  they  were 
decently  composed  the  next  instant.  The  latter  rose  impa- 
tiently, and  I  lost  no  time  in  following  his  example. 

"  A  demain,"  said  the  Comtesse,  with  her  most  captivating 
smile.  "  The  marquis  of  course  dines  with  you.  Excellent 
and  benevolent  old  man  !  How  infinitely  preferable  is  such 
society  as  his  to  that  of  the  wild  young  men  of  the  day  ! " 

As  she  spoke,  she  passed  her  dimpled  white  hand  over  the 
glossy  braids  of  her  hair,  and  my  sharp  eye  caught  sight  of 
a  bracelet  I  recognized  as  having  seen  lying  in  its  case  upon 
a  certain  toilet-table  months  before. 

"  My  departed  husband's  hair !  "  sighed  she,  intercepting 
the  look  I  gave  it. 

Oh !  Charlotte  Barrenes,  you  were  quick  and  clever,  but 
did  you  really  think  you  imposed  on  me  for  a  single  half- 
minute  ?  I  believe  my  face  was  a  riddle  you  could  not  make 
out,  either  then  or  afterwards ;  a  frozen  pond,  on  which  you 
advanced  little  by  little,  cautious  to  tread  lightly,  uncertain 
how  much  it  would  bear,  and  quite  unconscious  what  depth 
of  water  lay  beneath ! 

This  visit  was  the  commencement,  the  opening  chapter, 
followed  by  many  which  I  will  spare  the  reader  —  hours  of 
trial,  which  I  cannot  even  now  recall  without  its  bringing 
back  keenly  the  kind  of  sick  apprehension  I  lived  under, 
though  all  soreness  and  bitterness  have  passed  away,  thank 
God !  with  the  sharp  edge  of  the  actual  present. 

But  if  we  are  permitted  hereafter  to  gratify  our  curiosity 
about  the  accumulated  dust  of  secrets  in  each  other's  hearts, 
I  shall  look  with  a  painful  wonder  to  see  what  was  passing 
within  yours,  Charlotte  Barrenes,  during  those  hours !  Had 
you  no  compunction  —  no  pity?  It  is  hard  to  believe  in  the 
complete  wickedness  of  any  one.  Experience  shows  that 
good  and  evil  are  scattered  through  this  world  in  grains,  not 
in  cart-loads,  as  some  try  to  prove.     What  secret  charities 

16 


242  RITA : 

this  woman  may  have  exercised  —  what  teai's  she  may  have 
dried  —  what  sufferings  alleviated,  I  know  not ;  let  us  hope 
there  were  some.  That  she  carried  desolation  and  misery 
into  many  a  home  —  that  she  was  thoroughly  hardened  and 
unscrupulous  as  to  what  means  she  adopted  to  attain  her 
ends,  is,  alas !  too  true.  And  that  I  suffered,  through  her, 
the  darkest  and  stormiest  passages  in  my  young  life,  I  can- 
not ybr^ef,  though  I  forgive  her.  She  has  an  account  else- 
where beyond  my  keeping. 

I  felt  a  moral  conviction  about  Madame  de  Barrenes's 
character  which  her  conversation,  far  from  shaking,  only 
strengthened.  That  my  father  should  force  the  intimacy  of 
such  a  woman  on  me  seemed  at  fii'st  incredible.  Viewed 
simply  in  a  worldly  way,  the  injury  he  was  doing  me  he 
knew  as  well  as  any  one.  What  was  his  motive  ?  To  ren- 
der my  home  so  intolerable  as  to  oblige  me  to  exchange  it 
for  the  Hotel  d'Ofort?  It  seemed  the  only  possible  solution. 
I  foresaw,  with  terrible  distinctness  now,  Avhither  all  this  led. 
I  had  not  lived  this  past  year  for  nothing.  I  knew  how 
lightly  a  woman's  name  is  blown  about  like  a  thistle-ball 
from  mouth  to  mouth  in  Paris :  I  must  grasp  at  any  thing  to 
save  my  "  respectability."  And  that  my  father  —  my  father ! 
—  instead  of  shielding  and  sustaining  his  child,  should,  from 
some  inexplicable  cause,  thrust  me  to  the  very  brink  of  this 
precijiice  —  it  was  hard  and  terrible  to  bear !  I  shuddered 
and  turned  sick  when  I  looked  down  the  abyss.  To  be  mar- 
ried to  an  old  worn-out  debauchee,  the  touch  of  Avhose  hand, 
whose  laugh,  were  insupportable  to  me,  —  any  thing  were 
better  than  that.  Could  I  brave  the  world's  gossip  ?  Could 
I  go  on  living  this  life,  knowing  what  things  must  be  whis- 
pered of  me  —  and  loud  enough  to  reach  Ms  ears  ?  Fool ! 
what  did  it  signify  what  he  thought  ?  Ought  not  my  own 
self-respect  be  sufficient  to  sustain  me  ?  "Was  not  the  knoAvl- 
edge  of  my  own  helplessness  enough  ?  For  the  more  I 
thought  over  it,  the  more  dithcult  it  was  to  know  iow  to  act. 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHT.  243 

Twice  that  I  attempted  to  speak  to  my  father  he  became  so 
excited  that  I  found  it  hopeless  to  bring  him  to  reason.  His 
manner  was  that  of  a  man  who  has  drammed  himself  to 
carry  through  a  certain  deed.  Remonstrance  only  inflamed 
him  into  a  sort  of  temporary  insanity.  I  had  no  course  left 
me  but  to  yield,  and  receive  the  obnoxious  visitors  my  father 
thrust  upon  me. 

The  dinner  did  not  take  place  next  day  after  all,  I  believe 
in  consequence  of  the  marquis's  sudden  indisposition.  At 
all  events,  I  know  I  was  relieved  from  his  society  for  sev- 
eral days,  during  which  whole  hecatombs  of  flowers  were 
offered  up  to  me,  which  I  dared  not  refuse,  and  which  were 
indeed  very  agreeable  substitutes  for  his  presence.  But 
Madame  de  Barrenes  lost  no  time  (as  I  anticipated)  in  let- 
ting the  world  see  the  intimate  footing  on  which  we  stood. 
Her  beautifully  appointed  little  carriage  drew  up  the  follow- 
ing afternoon,  as  my  father  and  I  were  walking  in  the 
Champs  Elysees,  and  from  it  she  descended  (that  magnifi- 
cent hermit!),  a  glitter  of  blue  velvet  and  white  fur.  She 
joined  us,  causing  a  general  commotion  among  the  pedes- 
trians by  her  luminous  appearance,  and  creating  in  me  a 
strong  desire  to  take  to  my  heels  and  run  home.  I  can 
never  foi'sret  the  sense  of  shame  and  confusion  with  which  I 
felt  all  eyes  fixed  on  us  as  we  walked  along ;  and  when,  a 
few  minutes  afterwards.  Lord  Rawdon  passed  us  on  horse- 
back and  raised  his  hat,  I  was  at  no  loss  to  interpret  the 
look  he  gave  me.  And  every  succeeding  afternoon,  for  a 
fortnight  or  more,  it  was  the  same  thing.  Madame  de  Bar- 
renes assiduously  drove  in  the  wedge  of  her  acquaintance : 
she  would  take  no  denial  when  she  called,  but  though  as- 
sured I  was  not  "  visible,"  said  of  course  the  prohibition  did 
not  extend  to  her,  and  gently  thrust  past  the  feeble  domestic. 
My  father,  at  otlicr  times,  ushered  her  into  my  room  him- 
self; at  other  times,  again,  I  was  sent  for,  and  found  the 
marquis  (resuscitated)  with  madame  in  the  drawing-room. 


244  liiTA : 

Madame,  on  these  occasions,  unrepelled  by  my  coldness, 
talked  lier  very  best,  which  was  a  pity,  for  it  would  have 
been  much  better  if  it  had  not  been  quite  so  good.     In  her 
•  own  element,  I  dare  say  she  could  be  amusing.     But  wish- 
ino'  to  unite  for  my  benefit  the  sentimental  elegance  of  a 
Lc°martine  with  the  didactic  morality  of  a  Maintenon,  the 
effect  was  incongruous,  like  all  patchworks,  and  —  to  my 
taste,  at  least  —  utterly  disagreeable.     Her  manner  of  ad- 
vancing her   opinions  was  subjective,  as  though  her  point 
were  to  draw  me  out  rather  than  commit  herself  to  any  de- 
cided view ;  but  I  was  wise  enough  to  remember  that  imme- 
diately a  woman  uses  her  tongue,  her  judgment  no  longer 
remains  calm,  cool,  unbiased.     I  preferred  listening  to  her, 
and  drawing  my  own  inferences  therefrom.     And  the  result 
showed  I  was  right.     At  the   end  of  two  or  three  weeks, 
madame  knew  as  little  about  me  (except  that  I  was  a  silent, 
proud,  and  disagreeable  girl)  as  the  first  moment  we  met. 
And  I  learned  in  that  time  that  the  dangerous  axiom  of  lan- 
cuasre  beins  intended  to  conceal  thought  demands  an  astute- 
ness  and  consistency  in  lying  of  which  very  few  are  capable. 
"Watch  the  conversation  of  the  most  accomplished  of  society's 
actors  for  a  length  of  time,  you  shall  find  some  of  the  essence 
of  their  nature  oozing  out.     To  lie   well   requires  a  good 
memory:  this  is  lying  on  the  most  extended  scale,  —  the 
whole  life  and  conversation  a  lie.     Madame  de  Barrenes's 
accomphshment  did  not  reach  the  finish  of  high  art ;  there 
were  constantly  little  discrepancies  between  the  sentiments 
of  yesterday  and  to-day.     I  have  said  that  she  rarely  ad- 
vanced a  subject  boldly :  there  was  one,  however ;  to  which 
she  constantly  recurred,  and  on  which  she  never  failed  to 
dilate  —  the   excellence,    the    wisdom,   and   the   weahh   of 
Amedee-Joseph,  Marquis  d'Ofort. 

My  little  brothers  had  returned  to  England.  This  was 
but  a  small  addition  to  my  troubles,  perhaps,  yet  their  pres- 
ence had  been  companionship  and  something  of  protection 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  245 

too,  however  slender,  and  I  felt  doubly  alone  now  they  were 
gone. 

How  I  longed  that  I  were  a  man,  to  throw  off  this  heavy 
chain  of  inaction  —  to  go  forth  into  the  world  and  work  my 
way  to  honor,  if  it  might  be  —  at  least,  to  independence ! 
And  here  I  was  compelled  to  sit  with  folded  hands,  and  a 
restless,  fluttering  heart,  that  beat  against  its  cage  as  though 
it  were  like  to  break.  The  ground  seemed  failing  beneath 
my  feet.  I  trusted  in  my  own  strength,  thinking  it  a  staff, 
and  in  the  hour  of  trial  it  proved  a  broken  reed.  For  I 
knew  little  of  the  comfort  and  friendliness  of  prayer  at  that 
time ;  I  asked  and  gave  thanks  for  physical  wants,  and  I 
looked  forward  to  the  time  when  I  should  be  united  to  all 
those  I  loved  in  a  happier  sphere ;  but  I  took  no  "  counsel 
with  God,"  I  did  not  rely  on  him  alone  for  guidance  and 
support. 

I  had  heard  several  times  from  Miss  Lateward  —  kind 
letters,  containing  very  little  on  the  only  subject  that  could 
interest  me  from  that  quarter.  Mr.  Eochford  was  building 
a  school-house,  or  Mr.  Rochford  was  gone  to  stay  with  his 
relatives  the  Nevilles ;  and  once  only  it  was  recorded  that, 
on  seeing  my  mother's  death  in  the  paper,  he  had  asked 
Miss  Lateward  whether  she  had  heard  from  me.  "  I 
was  not  aware  you  had  ever  met  him,"  she  wrote.  "I 
suppose  the  acquaintance  was  very  slight,  as  you  have  never 
named  it." 

I  now  sat  down  to  write  to  that  good  woman,  feeling  it  a 
relief  to  unburden  myself,  even  though  it  was  impossible  to 
enter  into  more  than  a  sketch  of  my  position.  I  could  not 
tell  her  all  on  paper,  as  I  might  have  done,  alone,  into  her 
ear.  The  letter  we  write  is  like  a  listener  to  the  confidences 
we  would  make  our  friend  —  we  cannot  be  sure  that  no 
other  eyes  shall  see  it. 

And  so  three  Aveeks  more  were  gone  :  each  week  bringing 
me  into  closer  contact  with  the  two  persons  whom  I  most 


246  kita:  an  autobiography. 

dreaded  in  the  •«'hole  world.  At  times,  my  mind  was  in  a 
state  of  excitement  that  bordered  on  insanity  (and  then  there 
was  no  desperate  deed  of  which  I  felt  I  could  not  be  guilty), 
alternating  with  depression  as  complete  and  violent  Avhen  the 
flood-gates  of  my  soul  gave  way.  Three  weeks,  beating 
and  struggling  on  against  the  rapidly  increasing  stream  from 
day  to  day ! 


CHAPTER    XXIL 

Betsy  set  her  resolute  little  back  against  the  door. 

"  No,  mum :  very  soitj,  mum,  but  it 's  impossible  to-day. 
Miss  IMarg'ret's  particular  unwell,  and  can't  see  no  one,  on 
no  account." 

"  Betsy,"  I  cried,  from  the  inner  room,  "  beg  Madame  de 
Barrenes  to  walk  in.     I  feel  better." 

My  illness  was  indeed  far  more  mental  than  physical. 
Still,  I  was  very  weak,  and  suffering  from  a  violent  head- 
ache. But  I  had  suddenly  resolved  to  alter  my  conduct  in 
some  measure  as  regarded  Madame  de  Barrenes.  Let  her 
be  admitted :  and  she  entered,  glowing  with  sympathy  and 
the  frosty  wind. 

"  I  began  to  think  I  was  never  to  see  you  again,  petite. 
Yesterday  you  shut  the  door  against  me — that  obstinate 
little  woman  had  locked  it,  for  I  tried  —  and  to-day  —  " 

"  Your  friendship  burst  the  lock.  Thank  you,  Comtesse. 
And  now,  Avhat  object  can  you  have  in  visiting  a  dull,  melan- 
choly girl  every  day  ?  Of  course,  it  is  very  kind  of  you  ; 
but  I  suppose  you  have  some  object.  I  have  too  high  an 
opinion  of  your  cleverness  to  suppose  you  would  bore  your- 
self—  and  me  —  without  some  motive." 

Madame,  for  once  in  her  life,  was  thrown  aback.  She 
looked  perfectly  aghast,  never  having  heard  so  many  words 
issue  from  my  lips  before  in  the  whole  course  of  our  ac- 
quaintance.    She  quickly  recovered  her  pi-esence  of  mind, 

and  said,  slowly, 

(247) 


248  RITA : 

"You  are  right.  I  have  another  motive,  which  is,  ray 
pity  for  your  position,  and  my  wish  to  improve  it,  though  I 
see  you  will  not  believe  in  the  interest  I  take  in  you.  The 
colonel,  between  you  and  me,  chere  enfant,  will  leave  his 
children  only  some  thousand  pounds'  worth  of  debts,  if  he 
dies  to-morrow.  What  think  you  ?  Were  it  not  better  to 
accept  the  certainty  of  a  high  and  honorable  name,  a  great 
fortune,  and  a  worthy  husband,  instead  of — Ah  !  I  shudder 
to  think  of  it !  Le  cher  colonel  is  afflicted,  too,  when  he 
thinks  of  it.  And,  remember,  no  ardent  young  lover  is 
ever  half  as  much  aux  petits  soins  as  an  old  husband. 
Mine  was  seventy  when  I  married." 

"  Was  the  result  satisfactory,  madame  ?  " 

"  Perfectly.  Depend  on  it,  for  comfort,  there  is  nothing 
like  a  husband  of  a  certain  age  "  (d'un  age  mur). 

"  To  produce  so  admirable  a  wife,  I  doubt  it  not.  Still,  I 
don't  think  I  shall  marry." 

"  Really  ?  —  then  you  must  be  in  love  —  9a  n'empeche 
pas,"  said  she,  putting  her  feet  on  the  fender,  and  drawing 
up  the  skirt  of  her  dress.  I  looked  her  steadily  in  the  face. 
She  quickly  recalled  that  piece,  and  made  another  move. 
"  Of  course  a  charming  girl,  like  you,  has  numbers  of 
lovers." 

"  But  I  cannot  marry  a  number,  madame  ;  and  if  I  like 
no  one  in  particular  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  that  wild  English  milord  ?  They  say  he  quar- 
relled with  la  pauvre  Galoffska  solely  on  your  account,  and 
swore  he  would  never  even  see  her  again,  because  she  wrote 
that  note  to  your  father.  I  hear  he  would  commit  any  folly 
for  your  sake  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  a  worse  one  than  he  ever  committed  if  I 
were  to  marry  him." 

"  I  rejoice  to  hear  you  say  so,  ma  chere.  Then,  if  there 
is  really  no  one  who  has  engaged  your  young  affection,  what 
objection  can  you  have  to  such  an  unexceptionable  parti  as 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  249 

the  marquis  ?  It  is  really  extraordinary  how  he  woi'ships 
you !  Pie  has  experienced  many  tender  passions,  of  course, 
in  his  long  life,  but  never  one  so  strong  as  this  —  unquench- 
able even  by  your  coldness.  He  knows  he  cannot  expect 
love  from  you  in  return  —  toleration  is  all  he  hopes  for. 
You  would  find  he  is  a  true  philosopher,  chere  petite." 

"  Epicurean,  I  should  think." 

"  Not  at  all ;  he  eats  very  little  "  —  as  if  she  were  talking 
of  a  dog. 

"Even  Paris  society,  which  is  not  over  j)articular,  con- 
siders him  a  '  bad  subject.'" 

"  Look  you,  my  dear,  il  faut  etre  raisonnable.  You  can- 
not have  perfection.     Christian  charity  forbids." 

"  Pardon  me,  we  will  not  discuss  charity.  Though  paint- 
ers represent  that  virtue  with  such  abundant  breasts,  it  is  a 
cold  sentiment  to  marry  upon.  Were  you  ever  in  love, 
madame  ?  " 

"  What  a  question !  Of  course,  my  dear,  I  adored  my 
husband." 

"  Then  you  can  understand  my  not  wishing  to  marry  until 
I  am  equally  fortunate." 

We  sat  on  either  side  of  the  fire,  I  and  this  woman,  trying 
to  read  each  other's  faces  in  the  fitful  light  of  the  wood- 
flames,  for  it  was  now  quite  dusk.  But  the  tightly-gloved 
fingers  of  madame's  plump  little  hand,  held  out  fan-wise  to 
guard  her  from  the  fire,  cast  strange  barred  shadows  all 
across  her  face,  making  the  expressions  there  difiicult  to 
seize. 

"  Ma  chere,"  said  she,  sinking  her  voice  to  an  oily  whisper 
"  have  you  considered  your  father  ?  " 

"  AVliat  of  him,  madame  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  must  think  of  him,  in  this  affitir,  as  an 
affectionate  daughter.  The  advantage  to  him  will  be  so 
great." 

"  How  so  ?     To  get  rid  of  me,  do  you  mean  ? " 


250  RITA : 

"Quelle  idee!" 

"  Perhaps  he  intends  taking  up  bis  abode  at  the  Hotel 
d'Ofort  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  the  marquis's  wealth,  as  you  know,  is  very 
great." 

"  And  you  think  he  will  feel  inclined,  after  he  is  married, 
to  feed  my  father's  extravagance  ?  " 

"Perhaps  not;  but  it  might  be  possible"  —  a  pause  — 
"  to  come  to  some  little  arrangement.  The  marquis,  I  know, 
would  be  willing  and  happy  to  —  " 

"  In  other  words,  I  am  to  be  sold  to  pay  my  father's 
debts." 

"  Ma  chere,  you  see  these  questions  in  a  very  coarse  point 
of  view." 

"  I  endeavor  to  see  the  truth,  madame ;  and  truth,  like 
nature,  is  rather  coarse  sometimes." 

"  We  must  not  be  selfish,  chere  petite,  in  this  world. 
You  will  be  doing  a  good  action  —  supporting  your  father, 
like  the  Roman  daughter.  And,  after  all,  if  you  have  not  a 
handsome  young  husband,  il  faut  bien  se  passer  de  quelque 
chose  dans  ce  monde,  n'est-ce-pas  ?  You  will  console  your- 
self in  your  philosophy,  as  I  have  done." 

"  I  am  afraid  of  such  philosophy,  madame,  and  the  con- 
solations that  spring  from  it." 

"  Besides  which,"  she  continued,  dropping  her  voice, 
"  you  see,  he  is  very  old,  my  dear.  It  will  not  last  forever, 
and  then  you  will  be  free." 

If  s^he  could  have  seen  my  face,  she  must  have  read  the 
loathing  and  horror  I  felt  for  her  at  that  moment ;  but  it 
was  too  dark.  I  leaned  back,  and  pressed  my  hands  before 
my  eyes. 

"  No,  rto,"  I  murmured  after  her,  Avith  a  very  different 
meaning,  "  it  will  not  last  forever !  " 

She  rose  to  go.  "  I  hope  you  will  be  wise,  petite,  and 
think  over  this."     She  approached  and  held  out  her  hand. 


AN    AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  251 

At  that  moment  I  expenenced  one  of  those  strange  and 
awfiil  "sensations  which  remain  indelibly  impressed  on  the 
mind  of  any  one  who  has  been  similarly  situated.  I  cannot 
tell  whether  it  was  only  the  effect  of  an  overwrought  im- 
agination,—  I  cannot  argue  about,  or  account  for  it,  —  but, 
as  I  looked  up  in  the  dim  twilight  of  the  chamber,  I  dis- 
tinctly saw  the  figure  of  my  mother  glide  between  Madame 
de  Barrenes  and  myself,  and  thrust  back  the  hand  of  the 
former,  brushing  me  with  her  long  black  garments  as  she 
passed  between  us. 

I  gave  a  sharp  cry,  and  started  up. 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  qu'est-ce  que  c'est  ?  " 

"  Stand  back  !  —  stand  back  !  There  !  —  do  you  see 
notliing?  —  How  can  you  venture  to  stand  there?  —  How 
dare  you  remain  in  her  sacred  presence  ?  Mother  —  mother 
—  mother ! " 

And  the  next  thing  I  remember,  was  hearing  Madame  de 
Barrenes  call  loudly  for  Betsy,  saying  she  tlioiight  I  had  a 
fit.  The  good  creature  ran  in,  and  madame  remarked  that 
I  was  in  a  highly  nervous  state,  and  fancied  I  had  seen 
something — she  was  afraid  I  was  ill;  I  must  be  watched 
with  care;  sickness  was  very  prevalent  in  Paris  just  now. 
And  with  similar  exordiums  she  left  me  to  the  good  offices 
of  my  faithful  nurse. 

****** 

After  a  sleepless  night,  during  Avhich  I  Avas  haunted  by 
the  image  of  my  mother,  I  rose ;  and  my  father  soon  after 
entered  the  room.  He  expressed  his  concern  to  hear  I  was 
so  unwell,  "  because  I  wanted  to  try  and  persuade  you  to  go 
to  a  ball  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville  to-morrow  night." 

"  Father,"  said  I,  seizing  liis  hand,  "  I  will  do  any  thing,  if 
you  will  promise  me  that  1  shall  no  longer  be  persecuted  by 
that  hateful  old  man.  Say  that  you  will  go  alone  with  me, 
and  I  will  go  to  this  ball ;  though  God  knows  how  little  my 
heart  is  in  tune  for  it ! " 


252  RITA : 

"There's  a  good  girl.  Yes,  we'll  go  alone,  Rita  — 
alone ! " 

"  And  jou  promise  that,  if  I  go  into  the  world  with  you, 
I  shall  be  no  longer  intruded  on  as  I  have  been  in  my 
own  home?  And  you  will  not  urge  me  to  marry  a  man 
I  hate?" 

My  father  turned  away  his  head. 

"  Promise  me." 

"  Idiot !  You  will  drive  me  to  take  the  last  step  by  your 
obstinacy  —  one  I  had  hoped  to  be  saved  from.  Consider 
what  you  are  doing  —  before  it  is  too  late." 

"You  speak  in  riddles,  father.  But  one  thing  only  is 
clear  and  certain  to  me  —  that  I  shall  go  mad  if  this  sort  of 
life  continues  much  longer.  In  one  way  or  another  it  must 
end.  Either  I  must  leave  you,  and  endeavor  to  get  a  liveli- 
hood somehow  in  honest  industry,  or  —  " 

"  On  your  own  head  be  the  consequences  of  this,"  inter- 
rupted my  father,  with  an  unste^idy  voice,  as  he  turned 
towards  the  door.  "You  will  go  with  me  to  the  ball  to- 
morrow, and  I  shall  never  urge  the  Marquis's  suit  upon  you 
again,  nor  shall  Madame  de  Barrenes  be  again  an  intruder 
in  this  house  " 

As  Betsy  was  brushing  my  hair,  she  suddenly  suspended 
her  operations  in  looking  out  of  the  window. 

"It  do  be  a  curious  thing  how  often  I  see  that  man 
a-prowling  round  the  house  here,  miss.  Look  opposite, 
under  the  port-coach-ear.  I  wonder  —  urn  —  whether  he 
can  have  anything  to  do  with  a  gentleman  as  has  stopped 
me  two  or  three  times  near  the  door,  quite  promiscuous,  as 
I  was  a-running  to  get  half  a  pound  of  tea  at  the  corner  — 
and  shocking  bad  it  is,  which  is  n't  here  nor  there,  only  sis 
francs  a  pound  for  sich  sloe-leaves  !  and  I  in  a  hurry  —  and 
he  stops  and  says,  '  How  is  your  young  mistress  ? '  '  Nicely, 
sir,'  says  I.  'Tell  her  I  am  always  watching  over  her,' 
says  he  —  or  words  to  that  defect  —  and  slips  some  money 


% 

AN   AUTOBIOGRAjnY.  253 

into  my  hand.     'I'm  obliged  to  you,  sir,'  says  I  —  but  he 
was  ■gone  !     And  now  I  think  of  it,  there's  something  else 
I  've  had  it  on  my  mind  to  tell  you  since  yesterday." 
"  What  is  it,  Betsy?  —  go  on." 

"  Why,  you  see,  it  be  rather  a  hawk'ard  thing  —  and  a 
painful ; "  with  a  great  tug  at  my  hair,  and  waiting  still  fur- 
ther encouragement. 

"  Come,  dear  old  Betsy,  don't  keep  me." 
"  Nasty  creature  !     I  could  ha'  torn  her  eyes  out ! " 
I  began  to  tremble  violently.     "  Go  on  —  go  on  ! " 
"  Well,  if  you  will  have  it "  (suddenly  dropping  the  hair 
about  my  shoulders),  "I  should  like  to  know  what  business 
that  Madam  Barren  has  a-poking  of  her  nose  in  here  and 
there,  and  opening  the  door  of  that  blessed  saint's  room, 
your  dear  mamma  as  was,  and  a-rummaging  among  her  dear 
blessed  things  in  the  wardrobe  ?  " 
"  What !  "  I  almost  screamed. 

"  Yes,  when  you  was  ill  a-lying  down,  after  she  'd  been 
here,  I  was  passing  the  door  of  that  room,  and  I  hear  some- 
think  like  the  opening  of  a  drawer,  and  I  looks  in,  and  sure 
enough  there  was  madam  a-turning  and  a-tossing  over  of 
everythink.  That  tasty  satin,  with  the  Mahometan  lace,  as 
your  mamma  wore  at  Miss  Rose's  wedding,  on  the  ground ! 
So  I  asks,  respectful-like,  what  she  was  a-doing  of.  '  Oh  ! ' 
says  she,  'je  ne  vole  pas,'  and  draws  out  a  Napoleon,  and 
puts  her  finger  to  her  lips,  the  which  I  refuses  indignant ; 
and  jus'  then  the  colonel  looks  in  at  the  door,  and  I  were 
that  angry  I  near  told  him  a  piece  of  my  mind,  —  only  for 
you,  Miss  Marg'ret,  and  he  your  father,  and  it  would  break 
my  heart  to  be  sent  away  from  you.  Deary !  don't  cry.  I 
were  a  great  stoopid  to  tell  you ;  only,  says  I  to  myself,  the 
less  she  sees  of  sicli  folk  the  better,  and  the  sooner  she  show 
that  she  won't  stand  sich  condict,  the  better !  " 

"  This  passes  all  bounds  !  This  is  outrageous  ! "  I  cried. 
"  How  can  my  father  —  Thank  Heaven  !    he  has  promised 


254  RITA : 

me  that  tins  woman  shall  not  intrude  here  again.  "What 
unparalleled  insolence  !  Oh,  that  warning,  my  mother  ! "  I 
sobbed,  and  the  desecration  of  her  memory  affected  me  more 
powerfully  than  all  my  sorrows  hitherto. 

"  Betsy,"  I  said,  some  hours  later,  "  I  feel  a  longing  to 
visit  my  mother's  grave ;  I  must  go.  Don't  be  afraid ;  I 
will  be  very  calm,  and  it  will  do  me  good,  it  will,  indeed. 
Get  my  bonnet,  dear  Betsy." 

It  was  near  four  o'clock,  a  mild  February  evening. 
"Wrapped  in  thick  veils  and  cloaks,  we  left  the  house,  and, 
stepping  into  a  fiacre  at  the  corner  of  the  street,  drove  to  the 
city  of  tombs,  stopping  only  once  on  the  way  to  buy  some 
immortelles.  We  made  our  way  through  a  labyrinth  of  mar- 
ble monuments,  gilt  crosses,  and  graven  images,  to  the  spot 
where  my  mother's  remains  lay  buried. 

At  first  I  thought  I  must  have  mistaken  it,  for  the  humble 
grave  was  crowned  with  a  wreath  of  fresh  violets  ;  but  there 
stood  the  words,  still  black  and  sharp  from  the  stone-cutter's 
chisel : 

"  Sacred  to  the  Memory  of  Marguerite,  the  beloved 
wife  —  " 

Alas !  what  mockery  it  seemed !  Her  earthly  home 
knew  her  name  no  longei*.  The  stone  wore  not  away  so 
quickly  as  her  memory  had  done  in  the  heart  that  here  pro- 
claimed its  grief  in  set  phrase.  Whose,  then,  was  the  hand 
that  had  scattered  loving  thoughts  in  flowers  ?  God  be  with 
them,  whoever  they  might  be !  I  knelt  down  and  kissed  the 
cold  damp  stone,  and  Betsy  moved  away  to  a  little  distance. 
There  I  lay,  my  head  buried  in  my  hands,  while  my  soul 
communed  with  that  purified  spirit  who,  I  knew,  beheld,  with 
the  angels,  every  secret  of  my  heart. 

"Mother,"  I  cried  low,  "you  know  all  now;  speak  to 
me  and  show  me  how  to  act ;  guide  me  through  this  dark 
valley,  mother,  for  my  footsteps  slip,  and  I  am  very  weary." 

"  Lean  on  a  loving  heart,"  said  a  deep  voice  in  my  ear. 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  .  255 

It  was  now  dusk,  and  as  I  looked  up,  a  figure,  or  rather  a 
shad«H:- stood  beside  me.  But  I  had  no  fear,  for  I  recog- 
nized the  voice  at  once.  I  brushed  back  the  tears,  and  held 
out  my  hand. 

"  This  is  your  doing ; "  I  pointed  to  the  freshly-strewn 
flowers.  "  By  what  gift  of  prescience  did  you  know  I  was 
to  be  here  to-day  ?  " 

"I  did  not  know  it.  I  watched  you  leave  your  house, 
as  I  have  done  every  day ;  and  I  followed.  As  to  the 
flowers,  I  have  often  come  up  here  of  late.  I  have  felt  as 
if  it  were  my  own  mother's  grave.  Had  she  lived,  she 
would  have  pleaded  my  cause  with  you,  Marguerite  ;  for 
she  felt  kindly  towards  me,  and  thought  less  hardly  of  me 
than  the  rest  of  the  world." 

"May  God  reward  you.  Lord  Rawdon,  for  the  respect 
you  have  shown  my  poor  mother's  memory." 

"  Marguerite,  we  meet  in  a  fitting  place  —  beside  the 
grave  to  which  we  are  both  hastening  —  for,  mark  me,  you 
will  not  long  survive  this  struggle.  If  you  do  not  speedily 
break  your  chain,  you  must  sink  under  it." 

"  Better  so,"  said  I,  in  a  low  voice.  "  But  you  are  wrong. 
I  shall  not  die,  though  my  nerves  have  been  so  much  shaken 
that  I  feel  sometimes  as  if  my  mind  were  giving  Avay.  We 
do  not  die  so  easily ;  joyless,  withered  lives,  are  commoner 
than  broken  hearts.  And  you,  my  friend,  have,  I  hope  and 
pray,  brighter  things  in  store  for  you  than  an  existence 
wasted  in  — " 

"  This  is  mockery,  Marguerite  !  "  he  exclaimed,  violently. 
"  You  must  feel  that  my  whole  life  is  bound  up  in  you.  If 
you  die  —  if  you  sacrifice  yourself  to  that  man  —  if  you 
destroy  your  happiness  for  life  by  one  fatal  step,  I  have 
nothing  left  to  live  for.  You  think  I  am  a  passionate 
nature?  So  I  am.  And  yet,  so  little  is  my  passion  a 
selfish  one,  that  I  swear  before  God,  if  I  could  secure  your 
happiness  by  it,  I  would  blow  out  my  brains  on  the  spot. 


256  RITAt 

Life,  indeed,  has  only  one  attraction  for  me ;  and  it  is  only 
lately  I  've  found  it.  Do  you  think  I  can  easily  give  it  up  ? 
Since  I  saw  you  I  have  spent  days  and  nights  —  I  have 
employed  secret  agents  of  all  kinds  —  in  discovering  the 
workings  of  that  vile  conspiracy  that  surrounds  you.  Shall 
I  tell  you  "what  it  is  ?  " 

"  I  know  it,  Lord  Rawdon  —  at  least,  I  know  enough.  I 
had  rather  not  hear  any  thing  upon  this  painful  subject.  I 
hope  my  father  at  length  sees  the  futility  of  forcing  this 
marriage  on  me,  as  well  as  the  society  of  persons  I  abhor." 

"  Never  !  do  not  believe  it ;  he  can't,  if  he  would.  Pie  is 
inextricably  tied  to  them.  You  will  awake  to  this  fact  soon. 
Oh !  Marguerite,  you  would  pity  me  if  you  knew  all  I  have 
suffered  these  past  weeks  for  your  sake  !  —  scenes  I  would 
not  shock  your  pure  ears  by  repeating.  Alas !  I  bear  the 
part-burden  of  another  heavy  sin  upon  my  head  since  I  last 
saw  you  —  a  wretched  woman's  death  by  her  own  hand. 
God  knows  if  it  were  my  words  that  drove  her  to  the  deed ! 
She  had  played  a  foul  part  —  and  yet  it  was  for  love  of  me, 
Marguerite  !  —  some  of  that  love  I  crave  so  vainly  at  your 
hands ! " 

"  This  is  very  terrible  ;  but  you  speak  as  men  always  do, 
of  self.  1,  too,  have  suffered;  shame  and  agony,  bitter 
revulsion  of  all  feeling  for  my  own  father,  —  these  are  not 
light  crosses,  and  she  who  lies  under  this  stone  knows  they 
have  been  mine  —  do  not  add  to  them.  It  has  been  a 
heavy  aggravation  to  think  I  was  the  indirect  cause  of  that 
poor  woman's  death.  Leave  me  to  go  alone  on  the  path 
God  shall  see  fit  to  clear  for  me  henceforward ;  indeed  it  is 
best." 

"  By  the  memory  of  that  mother  who  sees  us  now,  Mai-- 
guerite,  I  conjure  you  to  hear  me.  She  knows  what  perils 
you  are  in.  I  fancy  I  hear  her  voice  now,  pleading  for  me, 
and  bidding  you  not  to  reject  a  heart  that  loves  as  mine 
does." 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  257 

I  shuddered  as  I  looked  round  on  the  crosses  and  white 
montrm^ntal  figures  that  gloomed  like  spectres  in  the  dusky 
light;  the  evening  wind  sighed  and  trembled,  like  thin 
voices,  through  the  trees.  Then  they  died  away,  and  in  the 
silence  that  followed  I  heard  my  own  heart  speak  plain. 

"  There  is  one  for  whom  you  know,  in  spite  of  all,  you 
would  still  give  up  every  other  hope  on  earth ;  and  this  is 
not  he.  Though  the  cloud  of  darkness  be  on  you,  this  is  not 
the  light  of  dawn.  Never  think  that  a  voice  from  the  tomb 
can  plead  for  false  vows." 

And  I  said  slowly,  "  Lord  Rawdon,  I  know  your  strong 
and  loyal  heart.  I  do  believe  your  attachment  is  no  light 
thing,  to  be  swept  away  to  make  room  for  another.  And 
because  I  believe  it,  I  will  take  a  step  that  costs  any  woman 
dear  —  that  few,  indeed,  can  bi'ing  themselves  to  take.  I 
will  show  you  the  great  obstacle  to  my  ever  loving  you  as 
you  deserve.  It  is  that  1  also  have  loved,  even  as  you  love 
me  —  without  return  !  Is  this  humiliating  ?  I  think  your 
devotion  deserved  it  at  my  hands,  and  I  have  outlived  all 
false  pride.  I  do  not  blush  for  the  truth :  my  love  was  no 
crime  any  more  than  yours.  And  now,  you  know  better 
than  any  other  words  of  mine  could  tell  you  — " 

"  No ! "  he  cried,  passionately,  "  it  cannot,  shall  not  be. 
You  have  loved  —  so  be  it.  We  build  up  an  enduring  love 
from  the  ashes  of  our  dead  ones.  I,  too,  once  thought  — 
Oh !  how  different  was  that  from  my  devotion  to  you. 
Marguerite.  In  time  you  will  love  me,  I  hope  and  believe 
—  but  I  can  wait ;  you  cannot  wait  to  be  saved !  Of  two 
courses  your  father  must  speedily  take  one.  If  he  pursue 
one  of  these  courses,  a  lawyer  will  come  to  you  with  bills, 
promissory  notes,  etc.,  of  your  father's,  to  the  amount  of 
many  thousand  pounds.  The  lawyer  will  ask  whether  you 
consent  to  become  Marquise  d'Ofort,  or  prefer  seeing  your 
father  sent  to  prison,  all  his  furniture  and  every  thing  he 
has  in  the  world  seized.     It  will  be  represented  to  you  that 

17 


258  rita:  an  autobiography. 

you  will  be  left  utterly  destitute,  and  your  father  ruined  for 
life !  Now,  if  this  comes  to  pass  as  I  anticipate,  will  you 
make  me  one  promise  ?  " 

"  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  That  you  will  ask  for  two  hours'  reflection.  Then  open 
your  window  —  there  is  some  one  placed  always  in  sight  of 
it  —  and  wave  your  handkerchief.  Before  the  two  hours 
have  elapsed,  I  swear  to  you  this  money  shall  be  paid,  even 
if  it  be  to  my  last  farthing.  You  will  then  be  free,  Mar- 
guerite —  fi'ce  as  air  !  " 

"  Ah  !  no  —  bound  fast  by  ties  of  gratitude  !  Your  noble 
heart  is  worthy  of  something  warmer  than  this,  Eawdon. 
But  I  believe  your  fears  for  me  exaggerate  the  evil.  I 
have  promised  my  father  I  will  go  into  society  again  with 
him,  if  he  will  free  me  from  this  persecution  at  home. 
To-morrow  night  I  am  to  accompany  him  to  the  Hotel  de 
YiUe." 

"  IMonsieur,"  said  the  gardien,  approaching,  "  it  is  the 
hour   for   closing    the    cemetery.      The    gates    are   being 

locked." 

****** 

"  Miss  Marg'ret,"  said  Betsy,  as  Rawdon  handed  us  into 
the  fiacre  and  shut  the  door,  "that's  the  same  gentleman 
as  — "  The  rattle  of  the  wheels  over  the  stones  drowned 
the  rest. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

I  SLEPT  that  night  more  peacefully  than  I  had  done  for 
■weeks.  Whether  from  complete  exhaustion,  or  the  effect  of 
fresh  air  after  several  days'  confinement,  it  was  late  in  the 
following  day  when  I  awoke.  The  return  to  consciousness 
of  suffering  from  oblivion  is  like  nothing  else  in  the  world. 
The  aching  sense  of  something  weighing  at  my  heart  —  I 
scarce  knew  what  —  when  I  opened  my  eyes  on  the  faded 
curtains  and  well-known  furniture  of  my  little  room,  I  re- 
member now,  as  I  do  every  circumstance  of  that  day,  with 
a  curious  particularity.  There  are  moments  —  moments  of 
mental  suffering,  as  well  as  of  acute  bodily  pain,  when  we 
are  more  than  ever  alive  to  the  minutest  objects  that  sur- 
round us.  All  our  senses  are  sharpened,  as  it  were,  and 
when  we  look  back  to  the  hour  of  trial,  we  find  the  picture 
that  was  before  us  then  return  with  singular  vividness. 

I  rose  :  the  day  was  wild  and  threateninjr.  The  skv  hung 
gloomfully  over  the  opposite  roofs.  Gusts  of  wind  drove  a 
few  dried  leaves  and  sticks  against  the  window-pane,  and  now 
and  then  sent  a  tile  rattling  into  the  street  below.  I  looked 
out.  A  pedestrian  or  two  scudded  along,  holding  their  cloaks 
across  their  mouths,  and  bending  their  heads  before  the  bitter 
wind.  One  figure  alone  remained  under  the  shelter  of  the 
opposite  porch,  sending  forth  clouds  of  smoke  from  a  pipe, 
and  beating  on  the  stones  with  his  frozen  feet. 

Presently  a  carriage  drove  up  to  our  door.  I  recognized 
the  white  horses  at  once.     A  servant  jumped  from  the  box, 

(259) 


260  RITA : 

and  in  less  than  a  minute  my  father  appeared,  wrapped 
in  a  fur  coat,  stepped  into  the  carriage,  and  it  drove  away. 
The  man  opposite  immediately  left  his  post,  whistled  twice, 
and  then  walked  leisurely  down  the  street.  I  lost  sight 
of  him  ;  but  a  few  minutes  after,  when  I  looked  out,  he  had 
returned  to  his  position. 

As  the  afternoon  wore  on,  the  sky  grew  wilder,  and  the 
wind  more  fierce  and  loud.  I  am  not  given  to  presentiments, 
but  the  weather  seemed  strangely  in  harmony  with  my  fore- 
boding heart,  which  listened  and  waited  for  something,  I 
knew  not  what  —  but  I  felt  that  a  crisis  in  my  life  was  at 
hand. 

By-and-by  Betsy  came  in  and  laid  my  black  crape  dress 
for  the  evening  on  the  bed. 

"  I've  something  for  you,  Miss  Marg'ret.  What '11  ye  give 
me  for  it  ?  "  said  she,  with  a  clumsy  playfulness  intended  to 
divert  my  thoughts.  There  was  that  in  my  face  which  told 
her  I  could  not  bear  any  long  suspense.  I  held  out  my  hand  ; 
a  letter  dropped  into  it.  My  agitation  Avas  such,  though  I 
saw  at  a  glance  it  was  only  from  Miss  Lateward  —  a  cover- 
full  of  good  advice,  no  doubt  —  that  it  was  some  minutes  be- 
fore I  could  break  the  seal,  and  read  as  follows : 

"  Mt  dear  Young  Friend,  —  I  was  more  pained  than 
surprised  at  the  contents  of  your  letter,  being  in  a  measure 
prepared  for  your  statements  by  letters  which  Lady  Janet 
Oglevie  (who  is  an  inmate  here  at  present)  received  from 
Paris  a  day  or  two  ago.  These  letters  contained  (as  Ijirmly 
believe)  most  cruel  and  malevolent  reports  concerning  your 
'  way  of  going  on '  —  to  quote  the  vulgar  phraseology  used  — 
to  which  I  strenuously  refused  to  give  credence.  Yet  we 
all  know  the  homely  proverb,  '  That  to  emit  smoke  there 
must  be  some  flame,'  and  I  was  forced  to  confess  that  these 
reports  could  not  be  wholly  groundless.  Mrs.  Oglevie 
Fisher  —  I  do  not  scruple  to  name  the  writer  —  had  her- 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  26X 

self    seen   you    in    constant   and   close   intimacy   with   the 
Marqiifs  d'Ofort,  whose  society  is  shunned,  she  says,  by  all 
respectable  females  (though  Lady  Janet  opposes  to  this  that 
her  daughter-in-law  invariably  invites  the  said  Marquis  to 
her  parties),  and  his  creature,  Madame  de  Barrenes  ;  and 
she   further  adds  that   you   are  to  be  married   to   him  in 
a  few  days.     Then  follows  the  worst  portion  of  the  tale, 
which  I  am  only  induced  to  repeat  to  you  that  you  may  take 
some  energetic  measure  to  show  its  falsity,  and  prove  how 
unwillingly   you   have    been   forced   into   this   disreputable 
society.     'Miss  Percival,'  says  the  writer,  'has   shown   so 
little  regard  for  her  reputation,  that  many  people  believe  the 
marquis  does  not  intend  really  to  marry  her.     The  effrontery 
with  which  she  parades  her  intimacy  with  that  notorious 
woman,  no  less  than  her  conduct  with  respect  to  Lord  Raw- 
don,  has  been  offensive  to  all  right-minded  persons.     Poor 
Madame  Galoflfska,  at  a  party  only  a  day  or  two  before  she 
died,  said  openly  that  she  knew  for  Vifact  that  Miss  Perci- 
val had  been  the  cause  of  that  duel  last  year  in  which  Lord 
Rawdon  was  wounded,  and  that  she  herself  had  seen- her  walk- 
ing alone  with  him  that  morning  in  a  retired  part  of  the  Bois 
de  Boulogne  !     No  wonder,  then,  that  a  young  woman  so  lost 
to  all  sense  of  decency  should  be  spoken  of  as  she  is.'     You 
can  imagine  how  indignant  I  felt  on  perusing  the  above, 
which  Lady  Janet  gave  me  into  my  own  hands,  saying,  at 
the  same  time,  with  great  warmth,  she  did  not  believe  a  word 
of  it.     She  further  added,  that  her  daughter-in-law  had  al- 
waj's  been  jealous  of  you,  and   she  pointed  to  a  passage 
further  down,  where  Mrs.  Fisher  congratulates  herself  that 
her  daughters  were  never  very  intimate  with  you,  though 
their  grandmamma  had  been  so  blinded  to  your  real  char- 
acter.    This  is  very  mean,  petty,  and  contemptible,  but  it 
does  not  render  these  rumors  the  less  aggravating  ;  and  you 
must  do  every  thing  in  your  power,  my  dearest  Marguerite, 
to  set  them  at  rest.     Is  there  no  lady  of  unblemished  char- 


262  kita: 

acter,  and  of  position,  in  the  circle  in  which  you  move,  to 
whom  you  could  apply  for  countenance  and  aid?  Have  you 
spoken  to  Colonel  Percival,  firmly  but  temperately  ?  The 
moral  obligation  of  opposing  a  parent  is  the  most  cruel  duty 
a  child  can  be  called  on  to  perform  ;  but,  in  this  case,  I  see 
no  choice.  The  narrative  of  your  domestic  annoyances  is 
such,  that,  while  affording  an  agreeable  testimony  to  the 
integrity  of  your  heart  and  tlie  purity  of  your  motives,  it 
leaves  me  no  room  to  doubt  that  you  should  have  resisted 
his  wishes  more  decidedly  in  this  matter.  The  trial  is  not 
of  your  own  creating  —  let  this  be  your  consolation,  my  dear 
young  friend  —  and  it  might  be  more  severe,  were  your 
affections  in  any  Avay  engaged.  But,  fortunately,  your 
young  heart  is  as  yet  free  from  the  tender  passion,  having 
too  frequently  the  unworthy  for  its  object.  The  consort 
proposed  by  your  father  is  no  less  personally  distasteful  to 
you  than  he  is  publicly  objectionable.  Here,  then,  is  no  con- 
flict of  sentiments.  The  judgment  sanctions  the  decision  of 
the  heart.  In  this  matter,  you  alone  can  assist  yourself; 
but  let  me  counsel  your  writing  at  once  to  your  sister,  Mrs. 
Murray.  Though  giddy,  I  hold  her  to  be  a  young  person  of 
good  disposition ;  and,  if  her  husband  is  as  amiable  as  he  has 
been  represented,  they  will  concur  in  wishing  you  to  take  up 
your  residence,  for  the  future,  with  them.  I  shall  anxiously 
await  tidings  of  you,  my  dear  child.  Before  I  close  my 
letter  (though  such  indifferent  matter  cannot  interest  you),  I 
must  inform  you  that  an  event  is  likely,  before  long,  to  inter- 
rupt '  the  even  tenor  of  our  way '  here.  Mr.  Rochford  is 
engaged  to  his  cousin,  Miss  Neville.  This  alliance  which 
has  been  long  ardently  desired  by  Mrs.  Rochford,  and  has 
been  the  talk  of  the  county  for  the  last  two  years,  is  now  for- 
mally announced.  On  "Wednesday  —  the  very  morning,  by 
a  curious  coincidence,  that  Lady  Janet  received  that  scanda- 
lous letter,  and  showed  it  to  Mrs.  Rochford  and  me  at  the 
breakfast-table  —  Mr.  Rochford  had  a  long  interview  with 


AN   AUTOBIOGKAPHY.  263 

his  mother,  and  then  rode  over  to  Neville  Lodge,  which  is 
some  twenty  miles  distant.  In  the  evening,  Mrs.  Rochford, 
who  had  been  in  unusually  high  spirits  all  day,  announced  to 
us  that  her  son  had  proposed  to  his  cousin,  and  been 
accepted.  Miss  Neville,  I  am  given  to  understand,  is  a  very 
superior  person,  and  has,  moreover,  a  considerable  fortune, 
having  only  one  brother.  You  may  imagine  that  my 
thoughts  have  been  much  too  painfully  occupied  to  sympa- 
thize as  heartily  as  I  should  otherwise  do  in  the  joy  of  this 
admirable  mother,  for  whom  I  entertain  the  most  sincere 
regard.  Lady  Janet  I  do  not  fancy  quite  approves  of  the 
marriage  —  perhaps  on  account  of  the  near  relationship. 
She  is,  moreover,  peculiar  and  idiosyncratic  in  many  of  her 
views  ;  but  she  always  evinces  the  same  interest  in  you,  and 
a  lively  concern  in  your  truly  distressing  position.  I  will 
not  add  more  to-day,  than  the  assurance  that  I  am  ever 
"  Your  faithful  and  sincere  friend, 

"Tabitua  Late  ward." 

I  had  kept  on  saying  all  along  that  I  was  prepared  for 
this.  How  did  I  meet  it  when  it  came  ?  The  blow  fell 
heavily.  My  heart  had  clung  pertinaciously  to  one  fond 
hope  —  none  the  less  so,  that  the  roots  had  struck  down  deep 
and  out  of  sight,  coiling  themselves  round  the  secret  fibres 
of  my  being.  And  now  that  it  was  torn  violently  up  —  0 
reader,  dare  I  confess  —  no,  let  me  shut  my  chamber-door  — 
the  secret  of  my  agony  shall  remain  sacred  —  not  even  faith- 
ful Betsy  must  see  me  now.  She  shakes  the  door,  and  there 
is  no  sound  but  as  the  fluttering  of  some  poor  bird  within  — 
low,  smothered  sobs.  Enter  two  hours  hence,  reader,  and 
you  shall  find  a  young  girl  with  flushed  face,  unnaturally 
glittering  eyes  that  terrify  her,  as  she  sits  before  her  mir- 
ror—  looking  "uncommon  well,"  so  Betsy  thinks,  as  she 
plaits  the  hair  around  her  young  mistress's  head. 

It  was  a  night  such  as  I  hardly  ever  remember.   The  wind 


264  RITA 

was  at  our  back  as  we  drove  along  the  streets,  and  saw  the 
hackney-coachmen  vainly  urging  their  horses  against  the 
storm,  which  drove  the  foot-passengers  like  sand  before  it, 
and  which  hardly  any  could  face.  "We  were  quite  silent,  till 
suddenly  my  father  made  the  obvious  remark,  repeated,  no 
doubt,  many  thousand  times  that  evening  by  comfortable 
gentlemen  on  terra  Jirma : 

"  What  an  awful  night  this  must  be  at  sea  ! " 

At  sea !  Yes,  but  I  would  far  rather  have  beheld  the  blue 
mountains  of  the  watery  world  rising  up  around  me,  and  have 
felt  myself  in  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,  than  have 
been  sitting  there,  safe  and  dangerless  to  all  outward  ap- 
pearance. 

The  contrast,  when  we  passed  into  the  Hotel  de  Ville, 
radiant  with  light  and  flowers,  from  the  howling  tempest 
without,  was  striking ;  but  I  walked  through  it  all  as  in  a 
feverish  dream.  The  ball-i*oom,  as  I  entered,  for  a  moment 
or  two,  reeled  round  with  me,  and  I  caught  my  father's  arm 
tightly.  The  crash  of  trombones,  the  shrill  laughter  of  the 
gibbering  mass,  rang  through  my  brain :  chandeliers,  dancers, 
and  orchestra,  the  whole  heaved  like  one  great  bosom  decked 
with  jewels.  Then  my  senses  righted  themselves.  I  was 
conscious  of  a  figure  near  the  door :  it  approached  and  ex- 
tended its  hand. 

I  had  almost  forgotten  the  existence  of  Madame  de  Bar- 
renes  for  some  hours  —  that  was  saying  much,  for  she  had 
been  very  constantly  in  my  thoughts  of  late,  until  driven  out 
by  one  yet  more  powerful  image  —  and  here  she  stood.  Our 
eyes  met :  on  my  part  there  was  no  other  recognition,  and 
the  extended  hand  dropped  clenched  at  her  side. 

By  an  evidently  preconcerted  arrangement,  the  Marquis 
d'Ofort,  groaning  under  stars  and  ribbons,  now  came  up  and 
offered  me  his  arm ;  my  father  taking  Madame  de  Barrenes's 
at  the  same  moment.  I  turned  my  head,  and  saw  Rawdon 
near  me  in  the  crowd.    The  temptation  was  too  great,  though 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  265 

I  had  predetermined  to  avoid  any  conversation  with  him  that 
night."'"^!  made  him  a  shght  movement  —  he  was  at  my 
side,  and  my  arm  within  his.  We  were  following  my  father 
through  the  crowd  before  the  marquis  had  recovered  from 
his  astonishment.  When  my  father  turned  his  head,  and 
saw  with  whom  I  was,  his  face  became  livid. 

"I  am  going  to  dance  with  Lord  Rawdon."  And  we 
moved  on. 

"  How  brilliant  she  looks  ! "  —  "  Really  one  would  never 
think  —  "  —  "  What  a  horrid  position  !  "  —  "  Poor  thing,  so 
young,  and  looks  so  innocent !  though  people  say  =— "  — 
"  Tiens !  c'est  la  fiUe  dont  je  te  parlais  tout-a-l'heure."  — 
"  C'est  afFreux  !  —  9a  fait  pitie  !  "  —  "  Que  voulez-vouz  ?  elle 
a  pris  son  parti !  "  —  "  There  she  is  —  really  too  shocking, 
and  her  poor  mother  only  dead  a  month  !  "  —  '■  Oh  !  it  is 
seven  ;  but  still  that  is  bad  enough  !  "  —  "  Me  dear  Mrs. 
Borrage,  what  can  you  expect,  as  I  say,  from  such  bringing- 
up  ?  I  always  thought  her  very  bold,  and  discouraged  any 
eentimacy  with  me  girls."  I  turned  round,  and  stabbed  the 
speaker  —  Mrs.  Oglevie  Fisher  —  with  a  look.  My  ears 
caught  these  and  many  other  fragments  as  we  passed  through 
the  crowded  rooms.  Rawdon  said  nothing ;  but  his  brow 
was  thunderous,  and  he  bit  his  lip  till  the  blood  started. 

"  Come,"  said  I,  with  a  ghastly  sort  of  laugh,  "  let  us 
dance.  Don't  lead  me  off  to  the  conservatory  as  you  did 
the  first  time  I  met  you.  I  can't  sit  still  and  talk.  Do  you 
hear  them  say  how  well  I  look  ?  Of  course  —  in  such  capi- 
tal spirits  —  ha !  ha !  AVhy,  if  I  sit  still  and  think  —  I  say, 
if  I  begin  to  think  —  " 

"  The  time  for  thinking  is  past.  You  must  act.  A  word 
with  you  here ;  we  shall  have  time  enough  for  dancing  by- 
and-by."  And  he  led  me  through  a  suite  of  small  salons, 
occupied  only  by  a  few  whist-players  and  a  politician  or  two, 
to  a  small  room  at  the  end  which  was  quite  empty.  He  drew 
me  into  the  deep  embrasure  of  a  window,  which  looked  into 


26G  RITA: 

the  great  square,  having  a  side-glance  at  the  river,  where  the 
lamps  were,  reflected  like  floating  fires  in  its  perturbed  wa- 
ters. The  scene  in  the  square  was  strange.  The  moon 
shone  out  every  now  and  then,  between  great  gusts  of  black 
cloud  that  drifted  over  it ;  the  wind  blew  out  the  linkmen's 
torches,  drove  carriages  against  each  other,  and  almost  swept 
the  heavy-cloaked  dragoons  from  their  saddles ;  it  shrieked 
and  rattled  along  the  windows,  and  seemed  to  plough  up  the 
very  ground  ;  and  through  it  all  rose  the  shouts  of  coachmen 
and  gendarmes.     Rawdon  pointed  towards  the  bridge. 

"  Do  you  see  a  solitary  dark  figure  standing  under  that 
lamp?" 

"  Close  to  the  river  ?  Yes.  Some  poor  wretch,  perhaps, 
weary  of  his  life,  and  thinking  what  repose  he  would  find 
from  all  his  troubles  there." 

"  On  the  contrary,  a  man  full  of  spirit  and  vigor  —  a  man 
devoted  to  my  service,  IMarguerite  —  who  is  watching  this 
window  now,  as  he  has  watched  yours  for  many  and  many 
an  hour." 

I  was  silent,  and  he  continued : 

"  Do  you  know  why  he  is  there  ?  On  the  other  side  of 
that  bridge  a  post-carriage  is  waiting.  At  a  signal  from 
me  —  at  this  window  —  he  will  brins;  it  over  here.  At  the 
barrier  four  other  horses  will  be  in  waitinnr  all  ni^ht.  Now 
or  never  is  the  moment  to  free  yourself — to  decide  your 
fate.  Listen  :  do  not  shake  your  head,  Marguerite,  but  lis- 
ten to  me." 

"  How  can  you  urge  it,  after  what  I  told  you  yesterday  ? 
Leave  me  —  pray  leave  me  —  never  mind  what  becomes  of 
me.     Do  not  —  " 

"My  God!  Marguerite,  do  you  know  what  the  terrible 
life  in  store  for  you  is  ?  Has  not  this  last  blow  been  suffi- 
cient ?  Will  you  consent  to  remain  under  your  father's  roof 
after  it?" 

""What   do  you   mean?     I   am  wretched   enough,   God 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  267 

knows!  but  my  position  is  no  worse  than  it  has  been  for 
many  weeks." 

"Is  it  possible,  Marguerite,  that  you  do  not  know  — 
Hush  !  some  one  is  coming  in  here."  And  he  drew  me  fur- 
ther back  into  the  recess,  over  which  the  heavy  velvet  cur- 
tain fell. 

Two  persons  entered:  they  spoke  low,  but  with  great 
vehemence.  The  moment  I  heard  their  voices,  I  shrank 
yet  closer  to  the  window  ;  my  heart  beat  so  fast  and  loud,  it 
seemed  to  me  they  must  hear  it.  But  the  speakers  were 
too  much  engrossed  in  their  conversation,  and  though  the 
lady  seated  herself  opposite  a  mirror,  and  began  adjusting 
the  lace  on  her  dress,  she  still  spoke  and  gesticulated  vio- 
lently. How  different  from  the  well-oiled  tongue  I  had  been 
accustomed  to  hear. 

The  first  observation  I  caught  was  from  her  companion. 

"  I  tell  you,  Charlotte,  you  don't  understand  the  girl. 
Instead  of  coming  round,  she  is  more  determined  than  ever. 
"We  must  leave  it  to  chance.  Now  you  've  got  all  you 
wanted,  and  our  score  is  clear,  Charlotte,  I  won't  have  you 
bully  the  girl ;  we  must  leave  this  marriage  to  time  —  and, 
perhaps,  her  affection  for  you." 

"  Mon  Dieu,  Percival,  do  you  think  I  am  a  woman  to  be 
cheated  by  an  impertinent  child  like  that  ?  I  have  sacri- 
ficed 80,000  francs  for  you  ;  shall  I  leave  it  to  chance  when 
I  have  the  opportunity  of  getting  it  back,  and  more  besides  ? 
Do  you  take  me  for  a  fool  ?  She  shall  marry  him,  if  my 
name  is  Charlotte  Barrenes." 

"  With  all  my  heart,  if  you  can  manage  it  peaceably ;  but 
I  believe  myself,  knowing  how  devilish  obstinate  she  is,  that 
she  '11  sooner  go  into  a  convent,  or  go  out  as  a  governess  — 
in  short,  disgrace  herself  in  any  way  —  rather  than  marry  le 
vieux.     And,  as  I  told  you  before,  I  won't  — " 

"  Bah !  mon  cher,  you  don't  suppose  I  am  going  to  beat 
this  dear  daughter  of  yours?     She  refused  my  hand  just 


2G8  RITA: 

now,  so  I  suppose  it  will  be  open  war  between  us  —  and  no 
one  evex'  insulted  me  without  suffering  for  it ;  but  mine  ai'e 
pattes  de  chat,  you  know  —  I  never  show  the  claws  but  to 
your 

"  And  I  suffer  in  proportion  for  your  hypocrisy  to  the  rest 
of  the  world.  Understand  me,  Charlotte.  I've  done  the 
poor  child  harm  enough  already  —  harm  enough  this  very 
day,  without — " 

"  Que  veux-tu  dire  ?  "  cried  madame,  starting  up,  and  her 
eyes  flashing.  "  Ha !  is  this  your  gratitude,  Percival  ?  Do 
you  forget  how  often  I  have  saved  you  from  Clichy  ?  Have 
I  not  singled  you  out  from  all  others  to  heap  my  benefits 
upon  ?  Have  I  not  given  up,  for  the  last  three  years,  the 
whole  of  my  annuity  from  the  marquis  to  you  ?  which  you 
have  gambled  away  every  farthing  of?  And  you  talk  to  me 
of  harm  ?  I  should  like  to  know,  too,  who  is  to  support  you 
now,  if  I  do  not  ?  Who  has  obtained  for  you  the  large  loan 
from  le  vieux,  upon  which  you  are  living  ?  Truly,  sir,  you 
forget  how  much  you  are  in  my  debt !  " 

"  And  you  've  exacted  devilish  heavy  payment,  Charlotte  ; 
but  don't  make  a  scene.  We  shall  be  having  people  in  to 
see  what  is  the  matter,  if  you  talk  so  loud.  Of  course,  I  am 
indebted  to  you,  and  very  fond  of  you,  and  all  the  rest  of 
it—" 

"  Ah !  mon  cher,  nous  avons  passe  par  la.  Let  us  talk 
about  business,  and  not  waste  our  time.  The  only  thing  I 
am  afraid  of,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  is  that  Milord  Bcnodon. 
He  looks  as  if  he  were  a  desperate  man  in  love  —  or  in 
war ! " 

"  She  does  not  care  for  him.  I  am  afraid  of  her  running 
away  to  become  governess  or  companion  —  and  the  deuce  of 
it  is,  I  suppose  the  world  would  give  it  against  me." 

"  There  fire  ways  of  obviating  these  little  difficulties,"  said 
madame,  with  a  sardonic  smile  I  could  see  perfectly  reflected 
in  the  glass.     "  C'est  grand  dommage,  mais  il  court  deja  des 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  269 

bruits  —  they  do  not  take  young  girls  of  doubtful  repute  into 
famili^;'as  governesses  or  companions.  I  shall  be  very 
sorry,  but  if  she  thwarts  her  own  interests  and  your  desires 
in  this  Avay,  we  must  take  steps  to  prevent  it." 

"  By  G — d !  Charlotte,  this  is  really  too  bad.  I  believe 
you  have  already  industriously  circulated  stories  about  the 
child,  and  "  —  (he  swore  a  terrible  oath,  not  to  be  rendered 
in  English)  —  "if  I  find  you  using  any  foul  means  of  that 
sort  — " 

"  Bah !  You  have  a  poor  idea  of  my  intellect,  Percival ! 
Such  stories  would  come  ill  from  me  ;  du  reste,  no  one  would 
believe  them  !  There  are  other  ways  you  men  don't  under- 
stand. I  should  be  the  last  person  to  have  recourse  to  such 
extreme  measures.  Leave  it  all  to  me,  mon  ami."  She 
smoothed  her  Brussels  lace  flounces  as  she  spoke,  and  pulled 
out  the  folds  of  her  dress  behind,  with  as  much  care  and 
attention  as  though  she  were  not  withering  up  my  fair  fame, 
and  blasting  my  whole  future  in  her  heart  of  hearts. 

A  cold  creeping  horror  seized  me.  I  felt  as  if  I  must  cry 
out :  as  if  I  could  no  longer  assist  at  the  revelation  of  this 
woman's  appalling  wickedness,  without  denouncing  it,  and 
calling  down  God's  Avrath  to  overtake  her.  I  believe  I 
almost  expected  to  see  her  struck  dead  upon  the  spot. 
"While  I  gasped  and  struggled  to  suppress  the  cry  that  rose 
choking  in  my  throat,  the  speakers  passed,  and  were  saun- 
tering on  into  the  next  room. 

"  Do  you  hear  ?  Is  that  enough  for  you  ?  "  said  the  deep 
voice  beside  me.  "  This  is  but  the  beginning.  Will  you  go 
back  and  form  one  of  this  respectable  household  ?  " 

"  Oh,  horrible !  What  is  to  become  of  me  ?  My  own 
father  —  my  wretched  father  !  It  was  enough  without  this. 
What  has  he  done  ?  What  is  this  bond  he  has  entered  into  ? 
I  am  in  a  thick  darkness.     I  see  nothing  plainly." 

"I  thought  you  must  know  it  already,  Mai-guerite.  Your 
father  was  married  to  that  woman  this  mominfj" 


270  rita: 

Rawdon  caught  me  in  his  arras,  or  I  should  have  fallen. 

"Merciful  God!"  I  murmured,  "is  this  some  frightful 
dream  ?  Oh,  my  poor  mother !  to  think  of  that  woman  —  to 
call  her  —  Oh  !  no,  no  !  this  is  too  bitter.  It  cannot  be !  It 
is  n't  true  —  say  it  is  n't  true.  I  feel  —  oh  !  Rawdon,  Raw- 
don, take  me  away  fi'om  her  —  hide  me  —  kill  me  —  do  any 
thing,  only  save  me  from  that  terrible  woman  ! " 

Thus  I  raved  on.  I  thought  then,  and  I  think  still,  that  I 
was  very  nearly  insane.  I  had  no  control  over  my  thoughts 
or  wordd.  All  my  brain  was  on  fire,  and  Rawdon  himself 
was  alarmed  at  the  state  of  excitement  I  was  in. 

"  Come,  dearest,  let  us  fly  from  here.  Calm  yourself,  dear 
Marguerite.  Before  you  are  missed,  we  shall  be  far  away;" 
and  he  drew  from  his  pocket  a  small  taper,  which  he  lit. 
The  wick,  as  soon  as  it  ignited,  shot  up  a  bright  blue  flame. 
He  held  it  at  the  window-pane.  A  sudden  rush  of  recollec- 
tion came  over  me. 

"  No,  no  !  not  that  —  it  cannot  be.  I  did  n't  know  what  I 
was  doing  —  I  was  mad.  If  I  said  anything  —  forget  it. 
It  cannot  be,  Rawdon  —  leave  me,  if — " 

"  Never !  I  will  not  leave  you  now  to  your  weaker  self, 
Marguerite.  I  will  take  you  from  this  hell,  in  spite  of  your- 
self. You  shall  bear  my  name,  and  as  soon  as  you  are  my 
wife,  and  beyond  the  reach  of  these  vile,  defaming  tongues, 
I  will  kill  myself  and  rid  you  of  my  troublesome  presence. 
You  know  as  well  as  I  that  these  are  not  mere  words.  I 
will  do  what  I  say  if  your  happiness  requires  it.  But  it 
now  requires  that  you  should  leave  —  I  will  not  call  it  your 
home  —  your  father's  house  for  ever.  It  is  no  longer  a  safe 
place  for  you." 

"  Don't  say  any  thing  more  —  you  see  the  state  I  am  in  — 
on  the  verge  of  madness.  God  help  me !  I  no  longer  seem 
to  see  right  from  wrong.  Only  I  know  that  I  have  nothing 
to  give  in  return  for  this  devotion.  I  cannot  —  ought  not  — 
don't  press  me." 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  271 

"  Enough.     I  am  content  that  you  should  let  me  devote 
my  life-  for  you.     Come,  madame  will  be  sending  soon  to 
look  for  you  in  all  directions.     Remember,  she  has  now  au- 
thority to  do  so.     Just  think,  if  your  life  has  been  miserable 
hitherto,  what  it  will  be  henceforward  under  the  same  roof 
with  that  woman.     Her  influence  with  your  father  will  be 
greater   than  ever.     She  lias  got  from   him   all  he  had  to 
give  —  his  name  !  wherewith  she  intends  to  get  a  footing  ia 
society,  and  being  rich  with  the  spoil  of  her  former  lovers 
—  the  marquis  alone   allows  her  a  large    annuity  —  your 
father's  interest  will  make  him  obedient  to  her  wishes.     You 
understand  this  notable  plot  now.     Your  father  has  married 
this  woman,  not  that  he  any  longer  cares  for  her,  but  be- 
cause he  was  enormously  in  her  debt.     Had  you  accepted 
the  marquis,  your  father  hoped  to  have  got  off  his  own  mar- 
riage, as  the  old  man  had  promised  to   pay  madame    and 
every  thing  else.     Now  she  and  that  old  devil  together  have 
you  in  their  power.     You  will  be  closely  watched.     Your 
little  maid,  because  she  is  too  true  and  faithful,  is  to  be  sent 
away.     This,  Marguerite,  is  your  last  chance  of  escape." 

I  was  seized  with  a  violent  trembling. 

"  Why  am  I  lingering  here  ?  She  may  be  coming.  There 
she  is!  I  feel  her  hand  on  me.  Off!  off!  Keep  her  off, 
Rawdon." 

"  Come  !  "  —  and  he  gently  drew  my  arm  within  his  — 
"  this  way ;  I  know  another  exit  without  going  round." 

Half-diagging,  half-carrying  me,  he  opened  a  door,  and 
we  descended  a  small  stair,  communicating  with  the  vesti- 
bule below.  A  servant  was  waiting  there  with  a  large  and 
heavy  fur  cloak  and  hood,  in  which  I  was  enveloped.  I 
had  no  longer  any  power  of  volition  —  mind  and  body  were 
equally  prostrate  —  I  could  not  have  crawled  along  the  floor 
alone.  We  passed  swiftly  through  the  crowd  of  officers  and 
lacqueys,  and  stepped  out  into  the  wild  black  night.  How 
we  threaded  the  labyrinth  of  carriages  and  dragoons  I  know 


272  RITA:   AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

not.  The  blast  every  now  and  then  carried  me  off  my  feet. 
But  for  the  strong  arm  round  me,  I  should  have  fallen  un- 
der the  wheels  and  horses  more  than  once. 

At  the  corner  of  the  bridge  stood  a  carriage.  There,  too, 
lay  the  river,  swelling  turbulently  along  under  the  dark 
arches,  and  as  I  looked  over  the  parapet,  a  horrible  sugges- 
tion crossed  my  mind.  It  was  only  an  instant ;  but  my 
companion  guessed  that  thought,  for  he  grasped  me  firmly 
by  the  arm,  and  led  me  to  the  carriage. 

"  We  are  driving  to  your  old  home,"  said  he,  seating  him- 
self beside  me,  "  for  your  maid  must  come  with  you.  Tell 
her  to  put  up  a  few  things  quickly.  Every  moment  is  valu- 
able now." 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

Betsy's  face,  when  she  opened  the  door,  was  flushed  and 
swollen.  She  looked  at  me  for  a  moment,  and  then  sobbed 
out: 

"  You  Ve  heard  it,  miss  ?     Oh  !  Lord,  oh  !  Lord  !  " 

"  Hush !  don't  cry ;  we  have  no  time  for  tears.  Be 
quick ! " 

"But  you  don't  know  as  they've  sent  me  away  —  they 
won't  let  me  stay  with  you.  It 's  cruel,  it 's  in'uman,  it  is. 
The  colonel  was  'shamed  to  speak  himself,  so  he  writes  it, 
with  my  wages,  and  as  how  I  was  to  leave  to-morrow! 
'  Services  no  longer  required  ! '  Services,  indeed !  ugh ! 
ugh  !  and  I  —  " 

"  Betsy,  if  you  wish  to  remain  with  me,  you  must  leave 
this  house  to-night  —  now  —  at  once." 

She  stopped  crying  at  once. 

"  Whatever  do  you  mean,  dear  ?  Your  eyes  look  awful 
wild.     Why,  you  're  not  a-going  —  " 

"  But  I  am,  Betsy.  I  am  going  to  leave  vaj  father's 
house  forever.  Don't  desert  me,  dear  old  Betsy."  And  I 
threw  my  arms  round  her.  She  was  in  no  frame  of  mind 
to  combat  my  resolve. 

"  I  '11  go  with  you  all  the  world  over,  my  poor  babby  ! " 

In  five  minutes,  with  her  usual  quickness  and  energy,  she 
had  selected  and  put  up  some  few  necessary  things.  I 
would  not  wait  even  to  change  my  gown.  I  did  not  give 
myself  time  to  hesitate.  The  moment  for  deliberation  was 
past. 

18  (273) 


274  EITA  : 

I  tottered  with  feeble  steps  into  my  mother's  room.  The 
faint  light  of  the  gas-lamps  from  the  street  dimly  defined 
the  white  bed,  and  the  forms  of  all  the  dear  old  furniture. 
I  bade  them,  hallowed  as  they  were  by  so  many  associa- 
tions, a  solemn  and  eternal  farewell.  It  was  the  last  link 
that  held  me  to  the  past  —  the  only  relic  that  remained  of 
my  mother  and  my  home.  I  turned  :  Betsy  stood  there  with 
a  couple  of  night-bags.  We  stole  down  the  stairs  like 
thieves,  though  indeed  there  was  nothing  to  hinder  our  exit, 
and  crossed  the  court. 

"  Quick  !  quick  ! "  said  Rawdon. 

The  carriage-steps  were  let  down.  He  handed  me  and 
Betsy  in,  and  jumped  in  after  us  ;  the  servant  mounted  the 
box.  In  another  moment  the  old  house  —  the  well-known 
windows  with  their  green  shutters,  the  walls  which  had 
witnessed  all  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  my  life — had  rolled 
by,  and  passed  from  me  forever. 

I  threw  myself  back  into  a  corner  of  the  carriage.  Rawdon 
was  silent.  There  was  no  sound  save  a  frightened,  stifled  sob 
from  Betsy  in  the  opposite  corner,  and  the  rain  which  now 
began  to  descend  in  gusty  splashes  on  the  carriage-roof. 
Though  the  wind  had  somewhat  abated,  it  now  and  then 
drove  Avith  such  vehemence  that  the  horses  swerved  across 
the  road  and  threatened  to  overturn  us. 

At  last  we  came  to  the  barriere,  where  they  examined 
our  passport  (which  Rawdon  had  taken  care  to  provide), 
and  where  our  horses,  already  fagged  by  long  exposure  to 
the  elements,  were  exchanged  for  four  fresh  ones.  This 
time,  we  made  good  way  in  spite  of  the  storm.  The  long 
rows  of  poplars  that  gloomed  spectrally  on  either  side  of  the 
road  under  the  flash  of  the  carriage-lamps,  sped  rapidly  by. 
The  postilions  cracked  their  whips  defiantly,  and  urged  the 
horses  forward  mile  after  mile  of  flat,  straight  road,  plunging 
over  the  uneven  pavement,  the  mud  dashing  impotently  up 
against  the  windows.     The  rain  began  to  descend  with  fury. 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  275 

Thcjblack  heavens,  from  which  shone  no  ray  of  moon  or 
star,  seemed  emptying  themselves  in  wrath  around  us. 
Truly  an  awful  night !  —  a  drive  never  to  be  forgotten  ! 

For  the  raging  of  the  storm  without,  reader,  was  as 
nothing  compared  to  the  scourging  tempest  Avithin  me.  To 
the  necessity  for  action,  the  maddened  impulse,  the  mo- 
mentary'delirium,  had  succeeded  complete  inaction.  And 
now,  with  ever-increasing  intensity,  an  agony,  a  horror  of 
my  own  self  and  of  what  I  had  done,  seized  me.  There  I 
sat,  silent  and  motionless.  Kawdon's  large,  firm  hand  held 
mine,  and  every  now  and  then  he  turned  to  look  into  my 
face,  on  which  the  light  of  the  carriage-lamps  fell ;  but  with 
rare  tact  he  forbore  to  speak,  for  he  knew  what  a  wrench 
my  whole  system  had  sustained.  And  I  commanded  back 
the  hot  and  bitter  tears  that  rushed  to  my  eyes,  as  I  drove 
along  through  the  darkness  beside  one  whom  I  must  hence- 
forward  study  and  consider,  though  I  could  never  love  ;  for 
my  whole  heart  and  thoughts,  alas !  still  belonged  to  an- 
other. The  inwai'd  voice,  that  is  not  to  be  stilled  in  such  an 
hour  as  this,  cried  aloud,  "  Thou  art  about  to  perjure  thine 
own  soul !  Was  it  all  to  end  thus,  that  vow  registered  in 
secret  long  ago  ?  "  —  The  words  seemed  burnt  into  the  air ; 
I  could  not  hide  them ;  there  they  stood  written  on  the 
darkness  in  characters  of  fire. 

The  wind  had  dropped  altogether.  Nothing  was  to  be 
heard  but  the  rain  tearing  up  the  road  on  either  side. 
Heaven  seemed  holding  its  breath,  and  then,  suddenly,  from 
its  mouth  emitted  a  sharp  tongue  of  fire.  The  vivid  flash 
quivered  through  the  carriage,  and  Betsy's  scream  was 
drowned  in  the  thunder-clap  which  broke  instantaneously 
over  us. 

"  The  horses  are  beginning  to  flag,  Rawdon.  "Where  do 
we  stop  ?  —  we  can't  go  on  much  longer." 

"We  change  horses  very  soon.  We  don't  stop  till  we 
get  to  Amiens,  where  there  is  an  English  clergyman.     We 


27G  ritI : 

shall  be  there  very  early.  No  time  is  to  be  lost  till  then  — 
until  that  final  step  is  taken.  After  it,"  he  added,  in 
a  Avhisper,  "  we  will  idle  on  the  road  as  you  will  —  when 
the  door  is  well  fastened  between  you  —  between  us  and  the 
rest  of  the  world." 

I  leaned  back,  sick  and  weary. 

I  did  not  forget  the  fate  I  had  escaped  : —  oh,  n6  !  I  did 
not  forget  that  here  was  a  noble  and  true  heart  —  the  only 
one  devoted  to  me  in  all  the  world,  and  over  which  I  should 
possess  large  influence  for  good.  Some,  therefore,  would 
justify  —  some  even  rejoice  —  at  the  course  I  had  taken, 
though  many,  again,  would  mouth,  and  moan,  and  shake 
their  heads.  But  what  mattered  it  what  they  all  thought  ? 
Praise  oi*  blame  was  to  me  alike  indifferent.  How  much  of 
the  reality  did  any  of  them  know  of  what  was  passing 
below  the  surface  of  the  complexity  of  passions  that  stirred 
the  very  deeps  of  my  being  ?  Ah !  it  was  truly  said, 
"  C'est  dans  les  profondeurs  de  I'invisible  que  se  passent  les 
evenements  heureux  ou  malheureux  de  la  vie ! "  *  I  did 
not  think  of  what  the  world  would  say.  I  only  listened 
to  my  own  heart's  fierce  and  bitter  upbraiding. 

A  church  clock  struck  four.  The  cracking  of  whips  and 
the  redoubled  efforts  of  the  horses  announced  that  we  were 
entering  a  village.  Presently  we  drove  up  to  the  post- 
house,  the  only  house  in  the  street  where  a  light  still  burned 
in  the  window.  A  poor  place  enough;  but  as  the  door 
opened,  and  I  saw  the  wood  fire  blazing  on  the  kitclien- 
hearth,  it  looked  like  "  home."  There  was  a  crib  with  a 
child  in  it,  near  which  a  woman  sat.  It  recalled  my  little 
brothers,  who  would  have  no  one  now,  when  they  came  from 
school,  to  stand  between  them  and  their  fathers  coldness 
and  neglect.  How  had  I  acted  on  my  mother's  dying  in- 
junction as  regarded  them  ?     It  was  morbid  self-reproach, 

♦  Victor  Cousin. 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  277 


for  had  1  been  leaving  home  under  happier  circumstances, 
the  poof  boys  would  have  been  left  no  less  unfriended. 
But  there  are  states  of  mind  in  which  we  seem  to  try  and 
aggravate  our  misery  by  heaping  fuel  on  the  fire.  It  was  so 
with  me. 

There  came  another  woman  out  with  a  lantern,  and 
thrust  it  up  under  the  carriage  window,  asking  if  we  would 
have  some  coffee.  Then  followed  a  good  deal  of  shrill 
swearing,  and  clatter  of  hoof  and  harness,  but  the  fresh 
horses  were  already  put  to,  and  no  time  lost.  The  last 
thing  I  saw  was  the  old  postilion,  inside  the  kitchen,  drip- 
ping at  every  tassel,  and  regaling  himself  with  a  petit  verre 
at  the  hands  of  the  lanterned  lady.  Then  again  we  plunge 
into  the  darkness,  with  nothing  but  the  elf  lights  and 
shadows  we  bring  with  us  dancing  along  upon  cottage  walls, 
and  apple-trees,  and  long  reaches  of  flat  land. 

Tlie  fury  of  the  storm  was  over,  and  in  half  an  hour  after, 
spite  of  the  excitements  of  that  night,  nature  and  habit 
proved  too  strong  for  Betsy,  and  she  fell  asleep.  How  I 
envied  her,  honest  creature,  as  she  lay  snoring  in  the  corner 
opposite.  Oh,  that  I  could  only  sleep  and  forget  it  all,  and 
never,  never  wake  again !  Rawdon's  eyes  gleamed  on  me 
out  of  the  deep  shadow  with  such  woeful,  passionate  ex- 
pression, that  my  heart  smote  me  as  I  thought  how  often, 
in  the  long  years  to  come,  I  should  find  that  same  look 
bent  on  me  —  that  silent,  touching  rebuke  so  impossible  to 
answer. 

This  longest  night  in  my  life  is  drawing  to  an  end.  We 
have  changed  horses  twice  again,  and  now  the  dawn  is 
breaking  in  a  pale  and  misty  light.  The  rain  and  wind 
have  alike  died  away,  and  the  sobbing  of  wet  leaves  and 
branches,  and  the  flutter  of  an  awakening  bird,  are  the  only 
sounds.  The  sky  is  heaving  peacefully,  as  a  child  that 
sleeps  after  a  turbulent  passion  of  tears,  while  the  robe  of 
night  drops  gently  off.      A  rook  wheeling  its  flight  above 


278  kita:  an  autobiography. 

the  brown  fields  is  defined  darkly  against  the  glimmering 
grey.  A  cock  crows  his  reveille  in  a  farm-yard  as  we  pass, 
and  the  peasant,  in  his  blue  blouse,  is  already  yokmg  his 
oxen  to  the  plough. 

The  reign  of  darkness  and  of  dreams  —  of  crime  and 
mystery  —  was  past.  The  hour  was  come  when  terrors  take 
a  real  shape,  or  fade  into  vain  shadows,  that  have  but  dis- 
quieted the  heart  for  a  while.  What  was  past  was  no  phan- 
tasmagoria of  the  brain.  I  was  here  in  the  body  :  it  was  a 
terrible  reality  defined  in  the  hard  steel-light  of  day. 

The  sun  is  up,  and  we  are  entering  Amiens.  I  see  its 
cathedral  tower  in  a  blue  mist  —  but,  indeed,  every  thing 
passes  in  a  mist  before  my  eyes :  the  faces  of  the  houses 
thrust  close  to  us  as  we  crash  along  the  naiTow  streets ;  the 
market,  with  its  scarlet  umbrellas,  white  handkerchiefs,  and 
green  and  purple  vegetable-baskets  —  things  my  strong 
natural  habit  of  observation  alone  forces  me  to  see  at  this 
moment.  They  present  themselves  like  shapes  in  a  kalei- 
doscope, only  seen  through  a  gauzy  film. 

"We  drive  into  the  inn-yard  with  a  flourish  of  horn  and 
whip.  A  great  bell  rings,  and  the  landlord,  in  a  velvet  cap, 
backed  by  a  chorus  of  waiters,  cringes  forward.  The 
carriage-steps  are  let  down  :  Rawdon  springs  out.  I  try  to 
move,  but  all  my  limbs  seem  as  if  they  were  of  lead.  Eaw- 
don  lifts  me  gently  out,  but  I  have  scarcely  set  my  foot  to 
the  ground  when  I  reel  forwards,  and  lose  further  conscip""  • 
ness  in  his  arms. 


'-...^ 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

I  OPENED  my  eyes  in  a  spacious,  raw-looking  room,  the 
walls  of  which  represented  the  adventures  of  Telemachus  in 
progressive  order ;  the  figures  nearly  life-size,  painted  in  the 
brightest  body-colors.  A  pile  of  damp  wood  seethed  and 
spluttered  on  the  hearth.  Upon  the  marble  chimney-piece 
stood  a  huge  ormolu  clock ;  a  secretaire,  a  table,  and  a  few 
hard  chairs,  formed  the  only  furniture  of  the  apax-tment. 
The  cold  was  intense.  Rawdon  and  Betsy  stood  beside  me, 
and  the  landlord,  cap  in  hand,  was  near  the  dooi*.  I  sup- 
pose Rawdon  had  been  remonstrating,  in  no  gentle  terms,  on 
the  discomfort  of  the  room,  for  the  former  was  assuring  him, 
in  a  deprecatory  tone,  that  he  was  desole.  His  best  rooms 
-^  his  rooms  to  the  front  —  were  occupied  ;  had  been  already 
engaged  before  milord's  avant-courier  arrived.  Du  reste, 
the  rooms  were  convenient  —  milord's  on  one  side  of  the 
salon,  miladi's  on  the  other.  Did  milord  pi-opose  remain- 
ins  in  Amiens  that  nidit  ?  He  would  find,  the  cuisine 
excellent. 

"  No,  certainly  not  —  probably  not.  Where  does  the 
English  clergyman  live  ?  " 

"  A  little  outside  the  town  —  une  petite  demi-heure  — 
would  milord  like  some  one  to  show  him  the  way  ?  " 

"  Yes,  directly ;  and  send  up  some  breakfast  at  once. 
Marguerite,  my  beloved,  I  must  leave  you  here  for  an 
hour  in  Betsy's  charge.  Remain  quiet  till  I  return,  and 
lie  down ;  you  are  exhausted.  Betsy  will  bring  you  your 
breakfast." 

(279) 


280  RITA : 

«I  want  nothing  but  perfect  rest  —  not  food,  but  rest.     I 
shall  be  better  when  you  come  back.     You  will  bring  the 
clergyman  with  you  ?  "  I  added,  eagerly. 
"Yes." 

"  Betsy,  go  and  get  something  to  eat,  my  good  creature ; 
do  not  mind  me.     I  am  better  alone." 

"Lock  the  door,  then,"  said  llawdon ;  and  when  Betsy 
had  left  the  room,  he  took  my  cold  hands  in  his,  and  looked 
into  my  face.  Ah !  such  a  look  as  I  can  never  forget.  "  I 
feel  a  dread  at  leaving  you,  deai^est,  even  for  an  hour,  but 
I  cannot  help  it  —  dread  of  something  unforeseen  step- 
ping in  between  my  happiness  and  me.  I  struggled  against 
it  so  long,  and  since  that  I  have  struggled  for  it  so  long, 
I  can  hardly  believe  in  its  realization  now.  God  bless 
you,  my  Marguerite,  my  own  bride  elect!  I  can  pray 
now,  you  see  — that  is  the  first  step  you  have  worked  in  my 
reform." 

He  hurriedly  pressed  his  burning  lips  to  my  forehead, 
then  strode  towards  the  door.  He  turned  back  for  one 
farewell  look.  "God  forgive  you  and  me!"  I  muttered, 
with  averted  face.  They  were  the  only  words  my  lips 
would  frame.  When  I  looked  up,  he  was  gone.  I  dragged 
my  feeble  steps  after  him,  and  drew  the  bolt  of  the  dooi". 
Then,  at  length,  I  was  alone. 

I  breathed  a  long,  deep  breath.  Though  only  for  a  brief 
space,  this  liberty  was  as  an  opened  window  to  one  gasping 
for  air.  No  need  to  choke  back  the  tears  —  to  repress  the 
agonized  cry  of  my  heart.  Not  an  eye  could  see  me.  I 
threw  myself  on  my  knees  and  sobbed  aloud.  And  then, 
for  the  second  time,  perhaps,  in  my  life,  I  poured  out  my 
whole  soul  to  God.  It  was  one  of  those  moments  "  when 
the  soul  is  left  passive  and  helpless,  gazing  face  to  face  upon 
the  anticipated  and  dreadful  moment,  which  is  slowly  mov- 
ing on : "  when,  finding  "  ourselves  powerless,  as  in  the 
hands  of  a  destiny,  there   comes   that  horrible   feeling  of 


AN   ATJTOBIOGKAPHY.  281 

insecurity  whicli  forces  us  to  feel  out  into  the  abyss  for 
sometTiing  that  is  mightier  than  flesh  and  blood  to  lean 
upon."*  I  prayed  as  the  shipwrecked  do  —  as  men  do  in 
all  cases  when  human  aid  is  unavailing.  O  God  !  was  there 
no  turning  back  ?  no  door  of  escape  possible  —  any  thing, 
any  thing  but  this  ? 

Yet  I  rose  from  my  knees  calmer,  and,  in  some  sense, 
stronger.  My  way  was  dark,  indeed,  but  when  the  soul 
lights  the  way  the  understanding  must  see  clearer  to  follow. 
I  walked  slowly  up  and  down  the  chamber,  revolving  in  my 
mind  how  it  were  possible  —  The  clergyman  ?  Yes,  that 
was  the  first  step.  I  must  see  him  alone,  and  tell  him  all. 
I  must  brace  my  coward  heart  to  meet  Rawdon,  and  show 
him,  even  at  the  eleventh  hour,  that  this  must  not  be.  I 
would  implore  the  clergyman  to  find  me  some  means  of 
working  for  my  daily  bread,  here  in  this  town.  I  could 
never  return  home,  of  course ;  but  was  not  this  even  a  worse 
thraldom  ?  I  was  about  to  bind  the  fetters  on  my  soul 
which  no  tyranny  could  fasten  on.  They  might  deprive 
me  of  all  that  is  most  precious  in  life,  friends  and  fair  fame, 
but  I  should  still  have  that  which  was  dearer  to  me  than 
all.  We  women  think  of  these  things  so  differently !  To 
me,  the  prospect  of  sitting  down  for  life  beside  one  whose 
presence  never  made  my  heart  hurry  one  beat  faster  — 
to  whose  thought  my  own  never  sprang  up  responsive 
—  from  whose  tenderness  I  shrank  back,  —  in  short,  to  give 
only  one  half  myself,  while  the  other  was  turned  to  stone, 
this  was  a  life-solitude  compared  with  which  almost  any 
other  fate,  which  I  might  voluntarily  accept,  would  be  pref- 
erable. 

I  had  approached  the  window,  and,  almost  unconsciously, 
stood  looking  down  into  the  court-yard  below.  There  stood 
the  berime  which  brought  us,  covered  with  mud ;  and  there 

*  Robertson. 


282  RITA : 

too,  a  dark  travelling-chariot,  ready  packed,  and  upon  wliicli 
a  servant  was  strapping  some  night-bags,  assisted  by  the 
ostler.  A  lady's-maid,  carrying  a  parrot,  came  down,  and 
the  cage  was  hoisted  on  an  imperial.  Then  followed  dress- 
ing-cases, air-cushions,  a  medicine-chest,  and  sundry  books. 
An  old  gentleman  now  appeared,  who  walked  carefully  round 
the  carriage,  examining  the  axles  and  fingering  the  springs ; 
no  strap  or  buckle  escaped  him,  I  am  sure.  Then  he  went 
up  to  the  lerline  (his  hands  were  now  behind  his  coat-tails), 
and  inspected  the  small  coronet  and  arms  on  the  panel  with 
minute  attention.  I  watched  the  old  gentleman's  movements 
with  growing  curiosity.  Surely  I  had  seen  him  before, 
somewhere  ?  So  I  had  many  hundred  faces  in  Paris. 
"What  then?  Better  not  see  these.  Nevertheless,  if  I 
could  but  remember  where  I  had  seen  him !  The  broad- 
brimmed  hat  (I  seemed  to  recognize  even  that)  concealed 
the  eyes. 

He  looked  up,  and  it  all  flashed  upon  me  at  once.  The 
garden  at  Grandregard  —  the  sick  lady  and  her  devoted 
brother  —  yes,  it  was  certainly  Mr.  Bisset. 

-  Was  this  the  answer  to  my  prayer,  pointing  to  a  door  of 
delivery  ?  I  ran  to  the  bell,  and  pulled  it  violently.  I  un- 
locked the  door,  and  met  the  astonished  waiter  in  the  pas- 
sage. 

"  Where  is  the  English  fiimily  who  slept  here  last  night  ?  " 

"  They  are  just  leaving,  madame." 

"  Where  is  their  room  ?     Quick." 

"  Number  2  —  there,  at  the  end  of  the  passage." 

"  Go  and  say  that  an  English  lady  desires  to  speak  with 
them  instantly." 

I  waited  trembling  in  the  corridor.  The  man  knocked. 
I  heard  a  soft  voice  say,  "  Entrez."  The  man  went  in,  and 
gave  his  message.  Then  followed  two  or  three  questions 
from  Mr.  and  Miss  Bisset  alternately.  Then  a  slight  alter- 
cation. 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  288 

"My  love,  you  had  much  better  send  out  to  say  you  are 
sorry,'^ut  you  are  just  starting,  and  haven't  time." 

"  My  dear,  the  horses  are  not  put  to  yet,  and  it  may  be 
something,  you  know,  in  which  one  could  be  of  use,  and 
really  in  a  foreign  land  —  Demandez  a  la  dame  de  entrer." 

I  stood  in  the  doorway.  Miss  Bisset  sat  at  breakfast ; 
the  same  little  brown  curls  and  tidy  arrangement  of  the 
whole  person. 

"  Do  you  remember  Marguerite  Percival,  Miss  Bisset  ?  " 

She  dropped  the  piece  of  toast.  "  Good  gracious !  AVhy, 
of  course ! " 

"  Bless  me  ! "  said  Mr.  Bisset.  "  This  is  curious,  quite  a 
coincidence.  Who  would  have  thought  of  our  meeting  here, 
my  dear  young  lady  ?  " 

"  And  we  've  so  often  talked  of  you,  have  n't  we  brother  ?  " 

"  Thank  you  ;  I  'm  glad  you  remember  me.  It  makes 
my  task  easier.  Oh !  Miss  Bisset,  I  hardly  know  how  to 
begin  what  I  have  to  say." 

"  Why,  dear  Miss  Percival,  what  is  the  matter  ?  You 
look  dreadfully  pale  —  not  ill,  I  hope?" 

"  No,  no,  not  ill ;  but  I  must  explain  to  you  how  I  came 
to  be  here.  I  am  a  stranger  to  you  both  —  you  know 
nothing  of  me.  How  shall  I  induce  you  to  believe  the  truth 
of  a  very  improbable  story  ?  " 

The  brotlier  and  sister  looked  at  each  other  in  mild 
wonderment.  All  their  customary  conventions  of  kind 
phrase  were  baffled.  I  told  as  rapidly  and  concisely  as  I 
could  so  much  of  the  past  as  was  necessary  to  understand 
the  strait  I  now  stood  in. 

"  My  conduct  seems  inexplicable  to  you.  It  must ;  for  it 
is  almost  inexplicable  to  myself.  I  have  fled  from  my  home 
with  a  man  I  do  not  love  —  whose  wife  I  never  ought  to  be. 
I  know  it  must  shock  all  your  ideas  of  propriety,  but  do  not, 
Miss  Bisset  —  do  not  condemn  me  too  severely.  You  don't 
know  what  it  is  to  be  goaded,  driven  to  desperation  —  what 


284  RITA : 

a  life  of  constant  terror  and  humiliation  will  do  in  the  end. 
But  I  have  awoke  from  this  fearful  dream  before  it  is  too 
late,  I  hope.  I  come  to  you  as  one  Christian  woman  to 
another,  and  implore  you,  on  my  knees,  to  save  me.  Take 
me  to  some  convent  or  house  of  refuge  here ;  do  any  thing 
to  save  me  from  this.  I  am  strong  and  have  energy,  though 
you  see  me  now  so  weak  and  unhinged.     There  is  nothing 

—  no  work  I  will  not  do,  to  escape  from  my  present  posi- 
tion. But  alone,  I  cannot  break  this  chain.  Of  course  I 
must  be  married  at  once,  or  leave  him.  I  dread  my  own 
power  of  resisting  his  passionate,  energetic  remonstrance,  if 
we  meet  again.  Even  the  clergyman  will,  perhaps,  side 
with  him,  or  urge  my  returning  home,  and  that  is  impossible 

—  quite  impossible.  My  only  hope  is  in  you.  For  God's 
sake  help  me ! " 

The  brother  and  sister  again  exchanged  looks,  and  Miss 
Bissett,  beckoning  to  her  brother,  Avalked  to  the  window.  A 
few  minutes'  whispered  consultation  followed  (and  I  am 
bound  to  add,  apparently  no  contradiction).  Then  they 
came  forward,  their  kind  faces  beaming  with  satisfaction. 

"  As  to  your  remaining  here,  my  dear  young  lady,  in  a 
Roman  Catholic  establishment,  or  any  thing  of  that  sort, 
with  the  risk  of  becoming  a  Papist,  it  is  out  of  the  question. 
"We  couldn't  lend  ourselves  to  it.  My  brother  has  strong 
Protestant  principles.  It  is  very  shocking  that  you  can't  go 
home  —  very  sad  indeed.  Do  you  feel  really  quite  deter- 
mined in  your  own  mind  that  it  is  impossible  ?  " 

My  heart  sank  within  me  during  this  speech.  I  shook 
my  head  resolutely. 

'•  Well,  we  wiU  hope  that  it  will  only  be  a  temporary 
absence.  In  the  mean  while,  my  brother  has  thought  of  a 
plan"  (it  was  she,  I  know,  but  this  was  her  way),  "which 
will  be  the  safest  and  most  respectable  thing  you  can  do,  I 
think.  "We  will  take  you  with  us  to  England.  There  is 
plenty  of  room  in  our  large  chariot,  if  you  don't  mind  going 


AN   AUTOBIOGEAPHT.  285 

bodkin.  And  then,  when  we  get  to  London,  you  know,  we 
can  think  of  something.  You  said  you  had  a  sister  married, 
I  beUeve  ?  Well,  at  all  events,  the  great  thing  is  to  get  you 
away  safely  and  quietly.  A  terrible  piece  of  business, 
really !  If  we  can  start  before  the  gentleman  returns,  so 
much  the  better  —  it  will  prevent  a  scene.  Don't  cry,  my 
dear  Miss  Percival,  please  don't  —  it  makes  me  nervous ; 
and  don't  thank  me,  there 's  nothing  to  thank  me  foi".  It 
can  be  no  trouble  or  inconvenience  to  anybody,  but  quite  a 
pleasure  to  brother  and  self  to  have  you  with  us." 

As  I  recall,  at  this  hour,  the  unutterable  relief,  the 
thanksgiving  of  my  heart  to  God,  at  that  moment,  some- 
thing of  the  same  deep  and  solemn  feeling  of  gratitude  wells 
up  within  me.  What  would  my  subsequent  life  have  been 
but  for  that  window  overlooking  the  court-yard  ! 

My  eyes  were  brimming  over.  I  could  not  speak.  I 
threw  myself  on  my  knees,  and  buried  my  head  in  her  lap. 

"  No,  no,  my  deai",  pray  don't ;  there  is  no  time  to  be  lost. 
You  've  got  a  maid,  have  n't  you  ?  There,  now,  calm  your- 
self, mj''  dear.  Well,  she  can  go  in  the  rumble  with  Sarah, 
and  John  will  mount  on  the  box." 

"  My  love,  it  would  be  much  better  if  Sarah  were  to 
mount  on  the  box  and  John  go  in  the  rumble,  because  then 
he  can  keep  an  eye  to  see  that  no  ill-disposed  person 
(shocking  scoundrels,  these  foreigners)  cuts  off  my  hat-box, 
or 

"  My  dear,  it 's  perfectly  impossible.  Nothing  would 
induce  Sarah  to  give  up  her  place  in  the  rumble.  Sarah 
must  not  be  disturbed.  Ani/  other  arrangement  you  please 
to  make  but  that.  Now,  Miss  Percival,  if  you  wish  to 
write,  as  I  suppose,  here  are  pens  and  paper.  I  will  go  and 
speak  to  your  maid,  and  see  that  your  things  are  moved  into 
our  carriage." 

I  hurriedly  wrote  two  notes,  which,  as  far  as  I  can 
remember,  ran  somewhat  as  follows  : 


286  KiTA : 

a  Forgive  me,  Rawdon  ;  do  not  curse  me  when  you  read 
this.  Your  prognostication  has  come  true.  I  fly  from  you 
even  at  the  hour  of  our  marriage,  because  what  I  suffered 
last  nio-ht  shows  me  with  fearful  distinctness  that  life  would 
be  a  long  martyrdom  to  us  both  if  we  were  married. 

"  In  a  moment  of  delirium  I  consented  to  accompany  yon : 
I  alone  am  to  blame.  You  have  shown  yourself  all  that  is 
noble  and  devoted :  be  still  more  so ;  do  not  follow  or 
attempt  to  trace  me :  in  short,  try  and  forget  my  existence 
from  tliis  hour.  You  have  repeated  several  times  tliat  you 
would  sacrifice  yourself  for  my  happiness,  and  I  ask  that 
sacrifice  of  you  in  this  way.  It  is  the  last  request  I  shall 
ever  make  you  in  this  world.  Return  to  Paris  with  all 
possible  speed ;  let  my  fiither  have  the  enclosed  note ;  and 
refute  as  soon  as  possible,  by  your  presence  in  public,  the 
rumor  that  will  connect  your  absence  with  my  flight. 

"  A  kind  family,  known  to  me,  who  are  in  this  hotel,  have 
offered  to  take  me  to  England.  There  I  shall  gain  an 
honest  independence  somehow,  and  in  this  independence  I 
shall  be  happy,  Rawdon  —  as  happy  as  I  can  ever  be  again. 
This  should  not  displease  you.  Believe  me,  we  never  could 
have  been  happy  together.  You  deserve  a  better  fate ;  and 
that  you  may  find  it,  shall  be  my  earnest  prayer.  Above 
all,  let  not  my  life,  which  has  been  sufficiently  unhappy 
already,  carry  to  its  grave  the  bitter  thought  that  it  leaves 
you  a  more  desperate  man  than  when  we  crossed  each 
other's  path  a  year  ago  —  readier  to  drown  in  dissipation 
the  better  instincts  of  your  nature. 

"  God  bless  you.     I  have  no  heart  to  say  more. 

"  Marguerite." 

Enclosed  were  these  lines  to  my  father : 

"Your  own  heart  will  have  told  you  why  I  left  home, 
father.  But  it  is  my  duty  to  let  you  know  where  and  with 
whom  I  am,  as  well  as  my  unalterable  detei'mination  for  the 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  287 

future.  When  jou  receive  this,  I  shall  be  far  on  my  road  to 
England,  under  the  protection  of  my  excellent  friends,  Mr. 
and  Miss  Bissett.  On  my  arrival  in  London,  my  future 
course  will  be  guided  by  circumstances,  but  at  all  events 
you  wiU,  henceforward,  be  relieved  from  the  burden  of  my 
support,  as  well  as  from  the  restraint  of  my  presence.  I 
shall  inform  you  when  my  plans  are  more  formed.  At 
present,  my  feelings  are  too  painful  and  bitter  to  allow  me 
to  write  more." 

By  the  time  I  had  finished,  Miss  Bisset  was  standing  in 
nervous  impatience  beside  me.  Already  had  her  brother 
twice  announced  that  the  horses  Avere  put  to.  He  was  too 
anxious  to  be  off,  to  dispute  the  bill,  as  he  generally  did. 
Betsy's  face,  bewildered  with  the  rapidity  and  unexpected- 
ness of  this  last  move,  not  knowing  "  whether  she  stood  on 
ber  bead  or  ber  heels,"  but  strongly  disposed  to  remonstrate 
with  me,  presented  itself  at  the  door.  Behind  her  stood 
Eawdon's  confidential  servant,  and  the  gaunt  courier  who 
had  preceded  us.  I  believe  there  was  a  suspicion  on  the 
minds  of  all  three  that  compulsion,  or  at  least  energetic 
persuasion,  had  been  used  with  me,  and  the  two  latter 
looked  as  if  they  were  disposed  to  offer  every  resistance  to 
my  departure.     I  saw  it  was  necessary  at  once  to  speak. 

"  Give  this  letter  to  your  master,"  said  I,  stepping  up  to 
the  servant,  "  and  tell  him  that  I  left  this  of  my  own  free 
will,  in  company  with  this  lady  and  gentleman." 

"  Nous  aliens  nous  en  aller,"  said  Mr.  Bissett,  as  he  gave 
me  his  arm,  and  conducted  me  to  the  carriage.  The  tale 
having  got  wind,  a  couple  of  sergents  de  ville  were  at  the 
door  to  witness  my  departure,  backed  by  chambermaids, 
ostlers,  and  scullions. 

First  the  sister  steps  in,  then  I,  then  Mr.  Bissett.  The 
parrot  screams  "  Bonjour "  from  his  cage  on  the  imperial, 
and  we  slowly  emerge  from  the  shadow  of  the  great  arch- 


288  kita:  an  autobiography. 

way.     "We  are  actually  off.     Brother  and  sister  lean  back 
with  a  long-drawn  breath  of  relief. 

Farewell,  Amiens !  I  have  never  seen  you  since.  Years 
have  elapsed,  but  even  now  it  would  be  painful  to  me  to 
revisit  the  scene  where  I  passed  those  few  hours  of  my 
hfe. 


CHAPTER    XX VI. 

The  train  from  Dover  brought  us  into  London  late  on 
Saturday  evening.  We  drove  to  a  private  hotel  in  Dover 
street. 

As  I  looked  out  of  window  the  following  morning,  my  in- 
fantine impressions  of  the  metropolis  revived  within  me.  A 
gloomier  prospect  it  would  be  difficult  to  see.  Outside  our 
windows,  upon  a  rickety  iron  balcony  (never  intended  for 
any  one  to  stand  on),  were  three  cypresses,  like  mementos 
mori^  in  funereal  pots  or  urns ;  ghastly  reminiscences  of  de- 
parted greenness  in  pleasant  gardens,  that  beheld  the  rise 
and  set  of  sun.  Flakes  of  soot  were  encrusted  in  their  close 
branches :  they  were  petriiied  trees,  standing  for  years  past, 
probably,  as  they  now  stood,  stoical  and  grim,  heedless  alike 
of  winter  snows  that  melted  from  the  roof  upon  thin  black- 
ened tops,  and  blistering  summer  rays  that  peeled  the  stucco 
from  the  wall.  The  face  of  the  houses  opposite  was  be- 
grimed with  thick  tears  of  dirt.  They  seemed  weeping  their 
melancholy  condition,  as  though  they  felt  that  seven  dip- 
pings in  the  Jordan  would  be  required  to  wash  away  their 
uncleanness.  Upon  one  of  these  houses  was  what  in  my 
ignorance  I  took  for  the  painted  sign  of  a  warehouse  or 
shop.  When  Mr.  Bissett  informed  me,  at  breakfast,  it  was 
a  hatchment,  the  association  of  ideas  did  not  enliven  the 
character  of  the  view. 

The  only  living  things  that  presented  themselves  for  a 
long  time,  were  a  house-maid  sweeping  down  the  steps  of  a 

19  ( 289  ) 


290  RITA : 

door,  and  a  cat  peering  through  the  area-raihngs.  The  only 
sound,  a  bell  tolling  dismally  from  a  neighboring  church.  I 
checked  a  sense  of  depi'ession  I  felt  at  the  cheerless  aspect 
of  the  great  city  in  which  my  life  would  probably  hencefor- 
ward be  passed.  I  had  gone  through  too  much  not  to  be 
thankful  for  freedom  alone,  and  comparatively  indifferent  to 
every  thing  else.  I  would  not  disquiet  myself  about  the 
future  beforehand.  The  kindness  of  Mr.  and  Miss  Bissett 
prevented  my  feeling  that  I  was  indeed  already  alone  in  the 
world.     To-raorrow  the  fight  must  begin  in  earnest. 

I  must  mention  that  at  Calais  a  messenger  had  overtaken 
us  from  Rawdon.  I  do  not  give  his  letter,  though  I  liave  it 
before  me,  and  shall  always  keep  it.  In  spite  of  the  despair 
it  breathed,  there  was  a  manly  and  noble  spirit  throughout. 
He  saw,  at  length,  that  fate  was  against  him  —  it  was  no 
use ;  but  far  from  regretting  the  past,  he  rejoiced  in  it,  as  it 
had  liberated  me,  though  I  had  dashed  aside  the  cup  of  hap- 
piness forever,  just  as  he  had  raised  it  to  his  lips.  The  lat- 
ter part  of  the  letter,  which  he  had  evidently  tried  to  make 
as  calm  as  possible,  was  much  blotted  and  erased.  Know- 
ing his  wild,  passionate  nature  so  well,  I  felt  what  it  must 
have  cost  him  to  write  thus.  He  said  his  life  hencefor- 
■*  ward  —  Avhich  he  prayed  to  God  might  not  be  long  — 
should  be  more  worthy  of  the  only  pure  love  he  had  known; 
and  that  he  would  do  as  I  requested,  by  returning  to  Paris 
at  once,  etc.  There  was  no  resentment,  no  reproach ;  but 
so  much  the  more  did  the  tears  blind  me  as  I  read  it. 

Mr.  Bissett,  standing  before  the  fire  and  rubbing  his  hands 
after  breakfast,  said, 

"  Wliere  shall  we  take  Miss  Percival  to  church,  my 
dear —  St.  Paul's,  or  "Westminster  Abbey  ?  Sound  doctrine 
at  AVestminster  Abbey,  ain't  it,  my  love  ?  Or  the  temple  — 
.  what  do  you  say  to  that  ?  We  must  show  you  some  of  the 
sights  before  Ave  leave  —  we  shall  only  be  here  two  days, 
you  know.     By-the-by  —  hem  —  hem  —  " 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  291 

"  I  hal'dly  know  Avhether  it  is  right  to  discuss  business  on 
Sunday,  but  —  hem  —  hem  —  brother  and  I  have  been  talk- 
ing over  your  plans  —  and  —  it  struck  brother  that  the  best 
thing  you  can  do  is  to  come  and  spend  a  month  down  with 
us  in  the  country." 

"  Until  your  sister  and  her  husband  return  to  England. 
You  wrote  to  them,  I  think,  from  Dover  ?  Well,  that  will 
give  you  ti?ne  to  look  about  you.  As  to  remaining  here  in 
a  lodging,  my  dear  young  lady,  and  consulting  those  trustees 
you  talked  of,  and  so  on  —  why,  you  know,  lawyers  —  con- 
founded rascals  !  —  never  did  any  one  any  good,  and  you  'd 
much  better  see  some  of  your  friends,  or,  at  all  events,  hear 
from  them,  before  you  do  any  thing  decided." 

"  Dear  Mr.  Bisset,  what  can  I  say  ?  I  thank  you  both 
from  my  heart,  I  am  sure,  but  I  think  it  is  better  I  should  at 
once  set  about  looking  for  some  employment.  It  must  be 
done ;  so  the  sooner  the  better,  for  I  never  will  live  on  my 
brother-in-law's  bounty,  or  any  one  else's,  if  I  can  help  it. 
I  am  afraid  you  think  that  wicked  pride.  Miss  Bissett,  for 
you  shake  your  head.  My  sister  had  not  a  penny  when  she 
married  —  is  it  fair  to  lay  an  additional  burden  on  her  hus- 
band? If  I  could  be  of  use  to  her,  it  would  be  different, 
but  I  should  be  only  in  their  way.  They  have  no  children, 
as  yet,  whom  I  could  teach,  and  I  should  be  a  kill-joy  in 
their  gay  existence.  Believe  me  it  is  so :  I  have  tliought 
over  it  much.  I  had  better  set  bravely  to  work  at  once ; 
nothing  like  hard  work  for  making  one  contented,  is 
there  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  my  dear ;  it  is  all  very  creditable,  your  wish  to 
be  independent,  and  I  am  sure  we  honor  it  exceedingly,  but 
you  really  require  rest  for  some  time.  Your  nerves  have 
been  shaken  —  you  don't  look  as  a  young  girl  should.  Your 
energies  will  be  all  tlic  better  for  lying  by.  And  the  spring, 
as  I  always  say,  is  such  a  very  trying  season  !  " 

"  Lord !  you  don't  know  what  spring  in  the  country  is, 


292  RITA : 

Miss  Percival !  The  finest  sight  in  the  year  to  see  all  the 
hedges  bursting,  and  the  lambs  sporting  in  the  fields,  and  the 
wheat  sprouting  up  thick  !  —  a  sight  you  can't  see  in  that 
land  of  Mounseeis  you've  lived  in.  /  never  saw  such 
farmers  ;  it 's  my  belief  they  only  know  how  to  cultivate 
frogs  I  " 

"  Brother,  you  carry  your  English  prejudices  to  a  ridicu- 
lous extent,  as  I  often  tell  you.  Besides,  young  ladies  don't 
care  about  farming.  But  I  flatter  myself,  Miss  Percival,  that 
we  can  show  you  as  sweet  spots  near  us  as  are  to  be  found 
in  England.  The  Peak  is  not  many  miles  distant.  You  've 
read  '  Peveril  ? '  AVith  your  artistic  eye  (you  said  you  were 
so  fond  of  drawing)  you  would  find  plenty  of  food  for  your 
pencil  —  if  you  don't  think  you  would  be  bored  with  our 
very  quiet,  humdrum  life." 

"  Please  don't  say  that.  It  sounds  as  if  you  thought  my 
foi'eign  education  had  unfitted  me  for  a  quiet  English  life. 
I  have  never  tried  it,  but  I  can  fancy  nothing  happier." 

"  Come  and  judge  for  yourself,"  said  Mr.  Bissett.  And 
they  succeeded,  at  last,  in  persuading  me  to  accept  their 
kind  invitation. 

I  wrote  to  Miss  LatcAvai'd  the  following  day  (Sunday 
being  devoted  to  two  churches  and  the  Park).  It  was,  for 
many  reasons,  a  difficult  and  unpleasant  task,  and  I  made  it 
as  short  as  I  could.  I  begged  her  to  spare  me  any  advice 
about  returning  home.  I  told  her  I  was  with  friends,  and 
had  consented  to  pass  some  weeks  in  the  country  with  them 
before  returning  to  London,  where  I  intended  commencing 
my  career  as  an  artist.     I  concluded  by  saying, 

"  Be  good  enough  not  to  name  me,  nor  allude  to  this  letter 
or  its  contents,  among  your  circle.  You  will  oblige  me 
greatly  by  attending  to  my  wishes  in  this  respect.  I  have 
suffered  much,  and  I  had  rather,  henceforward,  be  com- 
pletely forgotten  —  never  spoken  of,  nor  canvassed  in  any 
way.     I  have  no  desire,  now,  but  to  drop  down  the  stream 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  293 

unobserved  —  to  glide  as  quietly  as  possible  onward  to  that 
peaceful  sea  towards  which  we  are  all  hastening." 

During  the  days  we  stayed  in  London,  desirous  of  raising 
the  British  character  in  my  eyes,  Mr.  Bissett  kindly  wished 
to  take  me  to  every  sight  the  capital  afforded  at  that  season. 
I  lived  in  hourly  apprehension  of  museums  and  zoological 
gardens.  Fortunately,  his  sister  saw  how  ill-disposed  ray 
thoughts  and  spirits  were  to  answer  these  active  calls. 
Many  were  the  amiable  bickerings  on  the  subject  I  over- 
heard ;  but  it  ended  generally  in  my  being  left  quiet.  Mr. 
Bissett  (notwithstanding  his  abuse  of  the  profession)  had  to 
see  his  lawyer  in  Lincoln's  Lm,  and  Miss  Bissett  her 
doctor.  Then  there  was  an  old  aunt  in  the  Regent's  Park 
to  be  visited,  and  sundry  purchases  to  be  made,  such  as 
garden-seeds,  and  books  for  the  school-children,  besides  pres- 
ents from  the  Soho  Bazaar  for  all  the  members  of  the  Exton 
household ;  so  that  the  time  of  both  bi'other  and  sister  Avas 
pretty  well  employed,  and  in  a  delightful  and  pleasurable 
fidget  they  both  lived. 

I  called  at  Sir  Charles  Murray's,  in  Brookstreet.  He 
was  in  Suffolk.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Murray  were  not  expected 
home  till  the  beginning  of  May  —  nearly  two  months  hence. 
The  only  visit  I  paid  was  to  my  brothers,  who  were  at 
school  near  London.  Their  joy  at  the  unexpected  sight  of 
me  was  the  cheeriest  thing  I  had  met  since  I  landed  in 
England.  But  it  was  painful  having  to  break  to  them  a 
knowledge  of  the  changes  that  had  taken  place  in  their 
home  since  they  left  it  six  weeks  before.  I  said  that  as  our 
father  was  married  again,  I  was  come  to  live  near  them  and 
Rose.  I  dared  promise  they  would  spend  their  summer 
holidays  with  her  in  the  country,  if  they  were  good  and 
worked  hard.  I  was  leaving  London,  but  they  must  write 
to  me  very  often,  and  I  should  be  back  before  long,  and 
then  we  would  spend  a  long  half-holiday  together  some- 
where. 


294  eita: 

"  Perhaps  Greenwich,  where  the  old  sailors  are  ? "  sug- 
gested Roger. 

As  we  returned  in  the  cab  along  the  Strand,  and  I  looked 
down  some  of  the  dark  and  narrow  streets  that  lead  to  the 
river,  I  thought  how  it  was  possible  I  might  soon  be  a 
dweller  in  one  of  those  dismal  houses.  I  pictured  myself 
on  a  hot  summer's  evenino;  lookino-  out  of  a  second-floor 
window,  Avhile  wherries  on  the  river  bore  holiday-folk  to 
pleasant  gardens  far  away,  and  an  organ  in  the  street  below 
played  old  tunes,  full  of  memories  of  the  long  ago ! 

I  was  to  begin  existence  anew.  New  scenes  and  faces  — 
new  interests  and  aims.  Only  no  new  hopes :  they  were 
buried  Avith  the  old  life.  Or,  at  most,  one  arose,  of  doing 
some  small  good  in  my  generation  —  that  my  life  should  not 
be  confined  to  a  round  of  selfish  toils  —  that  I  might  find 
some  work  beyond  the  daily  task  for  bread  apportioned  for 
me  to  do. 

Sitting  in  the  grim  London  room,  upon  a  black  horsehair 
sofa,  with  the  Times  supplement  in  my  hand,  my  eye  resting 
vacantly  on  paragraphs  beginning,  "  Landscape-painting : 
six  lessons  for  one  guinea,"  etc. ;  "  Pictures  and  sketches  for 
sale,"  my  thoughts  too  often  strayed  from  the  practical  ques- 
tions I  had  sat  down  to  consider.  The  mind  is  a  strange, 
sensitive  plant.  It  answers  to  touches  of  which  we  are 
scarcely  conscious.  When  we  fancy  our  attention  fixed,  a 
chance  word  is  enough  to  unloose  a  whole  chain  of  thoughts, 
and  send  them  wandering  up  and  down  the  face  of  the  earth. 
He  is  a  wise  and  happy  man  who  can  say  he  has  absolute 
control  over  his  restive  imagination.  I  found,  to  my  sorrow, 
at  this  time,  how  little  I  had  over  mine.  I  was  constantly 
referring  my  motives  and  actions  to  Ids  standard  —  asking 
myself  Avhat  he  would  have  thought  on  such  and  such  a 
point ;  though  I  struggled  very  hard  to  forget  his  exist- 
ence, and  tried  to  think  I  did  so. 

The  night  before  we  left  London,  I  told  Betsy  it  was 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  295 

probable  that  I  should  be  returning  in  a  few  weeks'  time  to 
take  up  Tny  abode  in  some  small  lodging,  and  I  begged  her 
to  say  honestly  if  she  still  wished  to  remain  with  me  under 
these  circumstances  —  whether  she  had  no  desire  to  "  better" 
herself,  or,  perhaps,  to  return  abroad  ?  She  had  been 
spending  the  day  with  a  cousin  in  Long  Acre,  and  declared 
that  she  was  sick  of  fi<reign  parts.  She  would  stick  by  me, 
that  she  would,  so  long  as  I  were  a  lone  child,  the  which, 
however,  she  foresaw,  would  not  be  long.  Though  I  had 
disappmted  his  lordship  —  and  a  great  pity,  too,  she  thought, 
for  he  was  a  fine  gentleman,  and  spent  his  money  like  one  ; 
and  that,  for  herself,  if  she  ever  was  to  marry,  for  sure  it 
were  like  time,  when  I  were  settled,  and  there  were  those, 
perhaps,  as  would  —  However,  she  should  n't  more  particu- 
larly delude  to  that,  for  it  was  neither  here  nor  there. 
Putting  these  things  together,  had  my  palm  been  crossed 
Avith  silver,  I  should  confidently  liave  predicted  matrimony 
on  the  Long  Acre  horizon. 

We  started  by  an  early  train  next  day.  About  three  in 
the  afternoon,  Mr.  Bissett,  suddenly  starting  up  and  rubbing 
his  eyes,  announced  that  we  were  not  far  from  the  station 
where  we  Avere  to  get  out.  Whereupon,  a  folding  up  of 
shawls  and  dispersion  of  the  crumbs  of  sandwich  lodged  in 
fold  and  flounce. 

«  Fine  land  this,  eh  ?  Very  fine  land,  Miss  Percival  ?  " 
Mr.  Bissett  has  been  in  the  land  of  dreams  for  the  lagt 
hour,  but  it  is  not  of  this  land  he  speaks.  "To  think  of 
those  confounded  fellows  wanting  to  give  us  free  trade,  when 
one  looks  there !  It  will  be  the  ruin  of  England  if  Peel 
ever  succeeds." 

"  Sir,"  said  a  plethoric  man,  with  "  cotton "  written  all 
over  liim,  who  had  not  yet  spoken,  "  you  should  look  at  the 
question  from  a  broad  point  of  view.  A  long-sighted 
policy  —  " 

"  Don't  talk  to  me  of  long  sight,  sir.     I  have  long  enough 


296  RITA: 

sight  to  see  those  fields.  I  say,  that  you  will  bring  down 
the  farmer  to  the  level  of  his  laborer.  It 's  the  beo-inniii"- 
of  Socialism,  sir.  You  '11  have  England  just  as  bad  as 
France." 

"  In  the  present  day,"  said  the  free  trader,  with  a  sar- 
castic manner,  "  the  greatest  good  of  the  greatest  number  is 
supposed  to  be  the  aim  of  legislation,  not  the  greatest  good 
of  a  very  small  number,  which  the  farmers  are.  If,  by  the 
cheapening  of  bread,  you  better  the  condition  —  " 

"  Nonsense,  sir !  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  you  make  me 
angry.  How  are  the  laborers  to  get  employment  —  how  are 
they  to  buy  bread  at  all,  if  it  is  not  from  the  farmers  ?  And 
how  can  the  farmers  afford  to  pay  them  when  there  is  such 
a  monstrous  competition  in  the  market  ?  I  say  it 's  impossi- 
ble, sir." 

"  Nay,  then  the  fields  must  lie  uncultivated,"  said  the 
other,  with  a  smile.  "  But  you  will  find  things  don't  quite 
come  to  that  pass,  though  we  shall  have  free  trade  as  sure 
as  I  sit  here,  sir.  You  will  find  that  the  only  difference 
is,  that  your  farmers,  instead  of  sending  their  oats  only  to 
Anchester  (you  live  near  there,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  sir  ?), 
wiU  — " 

"  Anchester  ?  "  said  I,  turning  to  Miss  Bissett  (and  from 
this  point  I  lost  the  Protectionist  discourse).  "  Are  there 
two  Anchesters?  I  thought  it  was  in  — shire  ?" 
4  "  So  it  is  —  on  the  borders :  but  yet  it  is  only  fifteen 
miles  from  us.  Why  do  you  ask  ?  Do  you  know  any  one 
there?" 

"  No  —  that  is,  I  believe  an  old  governess  of  mine  is  liv- 
ing with  a  family  not  far  fi'om  there.  That  is  the  post  to^vn, 
at  least." 

"  What  is  the  name  of  the  family  ?  " 

«  Rochford." 

"  Oh  yes !  They  are  the  other  side  of  Anchester.  I 
don't  know  them  much  myself,  but  brother  does.     He  meets 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  297 

Mr.  Rocliford  on  the  grand  jury,  and  so  on ;  but  they  live 
mucR  t&o  far  for  visiting  acquaintance." 

"  Oh  !  "     A  long-drawn  breath  of  relief. 

''  But  their  cousins,  the  Nevilles,  are  our  near  neighbors. 
I  have  seen  Mr.  Rochford  there.  It  was  thought  at  one 
time  he  would  marry  Maud  Neville.  She  is  a  great  favor- 
ite of  mine —  such  a  nice  girl !  Since  we've  been  abroad, 
I  have  heard  nothing  more  of  it ;  but,  indeed,  I  am  quite 
behind-hand  in  county  news.  I  believe  I  must  have  lost 
some  of  dear  Mrs.  Deane's  letters." 

What  would  I  not  have  given  to  return  to  London  by  the 
next  train !  Had  I  but  known  this,  nothing  in  the  world 
should  have  tempted  me  down  here.  While  Miss  Bissett 
ran  on  about  Mrs.  Deane,  and  a  thousand  other  indifferent 
things,  my  visit  to  Exton  was  being  prospectively  curtailed 
to  days  instead  of  weeks. 

I  asked  carelessly  what  the  Neville  family  consisted  of. 

"  There  is  the  father,  Mr.  Neville,  who  is  reckoned  a 
clever  person.  He  has  written  a  book.  He  has  one  son  — 
a  young  man  at  Oxford,  Avho  is,  in  the  slang  of  the  day,  what 
you  call  rather  fast.  Maud  is  his  only  other  child,  so  she 
will  have  a  large  fortune.  Her  mother  was  an  heiress, 
sister  of  Mrs.  Rochford's.  She  died  only  two  years  ago, 
poor  thing !  She  was  devoted  to  her  daughtei*,  and  took 
great  pains  with  her  education.  Mr.  Neville  did,  too ; 
though,  somehow,  I  never  can  fancy  he  is  as  clever  as  they 
say.  He  has  wi-itten  a  book  though  (something  too  learned 
for  me,  however).  Little  Maud  and  I  are  great  friends. 
I  call  her  little,  though  she's  a  big  girl,  but  having  known 
her  since  she  was  —  " 

"  Come,  come,  my  love,  don't  sit  there  talking ;  here  we 
are  !  Quick,  now  —  that  basket.  Miss  Percival,  take  these 
shawls,  please.  Good  day  to  you,  sir.  I  hope  we  may 
never  see  your  free  trade  in  England  —  that 's  all." 

It  was  dark  as  we  drove  down  the  narrow  lane  that  led  to 
Exton.     I  leaned  forward  and  said. 


298  RITA:   AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

"  Ml'.  Bissett,  I  have  a  singular  request  to  make  to  you. 
You  are  so  open  and  straight-forward,  that  I  hardly  know 
whether  you  will  grant  it.  During  the  short  time  —  for  it 
must  be  a  very  short  time  —  I  am  with  you,  I  have  most 
urgent  reasons  for  wishing  to  remain  unnoticed  —  unknown 

—  in  your  house." 

"  But,  my  dear  Miss  Percival,  nothing  is  more  natural. 
God  bless  my  soul !  worried  and  plagued  to  death  as  you 
seem  to  have  been  —  and  I  dare  say  I  don't  know  half  — 
you,  of  course,  want  to  be  quiet.  You  need  n't  be  alarmed ; 
we  are  very  quiet ;  we  've  hardly  any  visitors,  and  you 
need  n't  see  the^n,  if  you  don't  like.  My  house  is  Liberty 
Hall." 

"  Dear  Mr.  Bissett,  there  are  reasons  that  I  cannot  enter 
into  exactly,  why  I  am  very  anxious  my  name  should  not  be 
known  in  your  neighborhood.  I  assure  you  there  is  no 
terrible  secret  under  this  mystery  —  it  is  only  a  matter 
of  feeling  —  of  false  delicacy,  perhaps ;  but  I  dislike  its 
being  talked  of,  that  I  am  staying  in  this  particular  part 
of  the  country.  Do  you  mind  calling  me  by  any  other 
name  ?  " 

I  do  not  think  Mr.  Bissett  at  all  relished  the  idea.  A 
chan2;e  of  name  was  connected  in  his  mind  with  the  magis- 
terial  bench,  swindling,  and  the  county  gaoL  It  was  "  such 
a  very  odd  thing  "  —  he  had  never  heard  of  such  a  thing  — 
except — ^  really  —  well,  if  it  was  pai'ticularly  to  oblige  me 

—  for  Miss  Bissett  was  nodding  and  winking  significantly  at 
her  brother  all  the  time,  and  those  cabalistic  signs  he  never 
long  resisted.  She,  I  believe,  would  have  acceded  to  any 
proposition  of  mine,  for  J  was  beginning  to  have  a  great 
ascendency  over  her. 

So  it  was  settled  that  I  entered  Exton  as  Miss  Hope. 


'■•„^ 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

It  was  a  long,  low  house,  with  a  homely  English  face, 
and  pleasant  irregular  features  :  bay-windows,  trellised 
porch,  and  conservatory.  The  evergreens,  which  shut  it  in 
on  two  sides,  were  of  the  most  luxuriant  growth,  such  as  one 
never  sees  in  France  ;  sweeping  the  gravel  with  their  broad- 
leaved  branches,  and  forming  an  emerald  wall  nearly  as  high 
as  the  roof  The  greenest  of  velvet  lawns,  brocaded  in 
knots  of  flowers,  sloped  down  to  a  clear  stream:  on  the 
other  side  of  which  the  pleasure-grounds  extended  for  some 
distance  —  Mr.  Bissett  would  never  allow  it  to  be  called  a 
park  —  with  a  large  farm  beyond. 

I  looked  from  my  window,  the  morning  after  my  arrival, 
on  that  happy  home-picture :  the  lawn,  glistening  under 
its  veil  of  dew,  the  rooks  cawing  in  the  bare  top  branches, 
the  partridges  freckling  the  farm-fields,  and  the  blue  ridges 
of  the  hills  behind.  Under  the  wide-ai'raed  elms,  whose 
trunks,  with  all  their  moss-enamellings,  lay  clearly  mir- 
rored in  the  shallow  water,  the  sheep  and  cattle  were  come 
to  drink ;  the  only  sound  of  human  life  was  the  gardener's  _ 
scythe  upon  the  lawn,  and  that  in  no  way  disturbed  the 
sense  of  peace  and  repose  that  came  over  me  as  I  stood 
there. 

Of  course  the  brother  and  sister  found  enough  to  do  after 
their  year's  absence  from  home,  to  enable  me  to  be  many 
hours  of  the  day  alone,  and  these  I  spent  mostly  in  the 
library.    A  fire  was  lit  there  once  a  week,  nominally  to  keep 

(299) 


300  RITA : 

the  books  dry;  but  the  south  sun  fell  full  into  this  room, 
otherwise  it  would  have  been  untenably  chill  and  damp.  A 
mouldy  smell  of  books  struck  on  one  as  one  opened  the  door. 
I  took  down  volumes  from  the  topmost  shelves,  that,  save 
by  the  housemaid's  broom,  had  probably  not  been  touched 
for  years.  The  leaves  clung  together  from  long  compan- 
ionship in  damp :  for,  excepting  the  works  of  Mrs.  Hannah 
More,  I  do  not  think  Miss  Bissett  was  much  given  to  liter- 
ature, and  her  brother  certainly  never  read  any  thing  but 
the  newspaper,  the  Bible,  and  the  Book  of  Common  Prayer. 
Here  I  spent  some  very  happy  mornings :  here  I  made 
acquaintance  with  many  of  the  treasured  classics  of  our 
language,  hitherto  only  known  to  me  by  name  —  the  courtly 
verse  of  Pope,  the  polished  prose  of  Addison  and  Steele. 
In  such  company  I  often  forgot  the  anxieties  of  the  present, 
and  the  tranquillizing  effect  of  this  life  was  very  beneficial 
to  my  health  and  spirits.  The  family  at  Neville  Hall  were 
from  home  ;  and  as  my  assumed  name  prevented  any 
rumor  of  my  being  here  from  reaching  Rochford  Court, 
where  all  the  party  were  assembled,  I  was  comparatively  at 
ease ;  though  I  still  determined  only  to  remain  at  Exton  a 
fortnight. 

The  approaching  marriage  was,  of  course,  the  first  piece 
of  news  Mrs.  Deane,  the  clergyman's  wife,  had  to  communi- 
cate to  her  dear  friend  Miss  Bissett.  I  was  obliged  to  make 
Mrs.  Deane's  acquaintance,  notwithstanding  my  request  to 
be  allowed  to  slip  away  unnoticed  when  any  visitors  were 
announced  :  but  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  escape  this 
lady,  for  she  popped  in  and  out,  at  all  hours  of  the  day ;  at 
breakfast,  at  luncheon  —  no  hour,  or  meal,  or  room  was 
sacred.  An  active,  benevolent,  shrewd,  inquisitive  woman, 
invariably  seen,  with  a  basket  or  a  bundle,  trudging  to  and 
fro  in  all  weathers ;  indefatigable  in  her  charities,  which  were 
no  cold  matter  of  duty  with  her  ;  a  patient  listener  and  judi- 
cious counsellor;  a  right  good  gossip  (which,  m   a   genial 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  301 

sense,  is  a  most  commendable  village  weakness)  ;  a  warm, 
corafoi-fable  body,  in  short,  inexhaustibly  supplied  with  the 
caloric  of  human  sympathy.  She  was  the  dispenser  of  Miss 
Bissett's  charities  during  the  absence  of  the  latter,  and  her 
prime  minister  when  at  home.  This  accounted  for  her  con- 
stant little  dartings  in  and  out  of  the  house,  charged  with 
flannel  petticoats  and  cordials.  I  hardly  ever  crossed  the 
hall  without  finding  her  rubbing  her  feet  on  the  mat,  in  a 
glow  of  benevolence  and  sharp  walking ;  or  taking  her 
departure  with  a  cobwebbed  black  bottle  protruding  from 
her  basket.  Our  acquaintance  progressed  rapidly.  At  tirst, 
indeed,  I  found  her  rather  disagreeably  curious  to  know 
where  I  came  from,  who  my  parents  were,  how  I  came  to 
know  Miss  Bissett,  whether  I  was  related  to  the  Hopes  of 
Shropshire,  etc.  etc.  But  we  got  on  together  capitally,  when 
she  had  satisfied  herself  that  I  was  a  "  young  person  "  whom 
Miss  Bissett  had  met  at  T — ,  that  I  had  no  family,  no  home, 
and  that  I  intended  earning  my  livelihood  as  an  artist,  in 
London.  My  kind  hosts  had  laid  injunctions  on  their  two 
faithful  old  servants  to  say  nothing  about  me  whatever ;  and, 
to  their  honor  be  it  spoken,  they  never  yielded  to  the  strong 
temptation  of  a  strange  tale  to  tell  "  in  strict  confidence  "  to 
all  their  village  friends.  The  possession  of  this  secret,  and 
their  having  travelled  in  foreign  parts  together,  tended 
greatly  to  their  intimacy  with  my  Betsy.  This  triumvirate 
of  the  "  upper  table,"  as  I  learnt  from  her,  had  a  sort  of  free- 
masonry between  them,  and  their  often  ambiguous  talk 
inspired  the  others  with  great  awe. 

Of  Mr.  Deane,  I  have  little  to  say.  He  was  a  character 
of  secondary  importance  in  the  village  :  a  good  man,  but  dull 
and  slow.  I  often  wondered  how  his  sharp,  active  wife  could 
resist  slipping  on  the  surplice,  and  taking  his  place  in  the 
reading-desk.  For  in  every  other  emergency,  even  to  the 
delivery  of  a  slow  joke  at  dinner,  she  came  to  his  rescue,  and 
carried  him  briskly  through  it.  But  in  church  he  always 
sent  his  congregation  to  sleep. 


302  RITA : 

Ten  days  had  passed ;  I  was  beginning  to  feel  as  if  I  had 
spent  all  my  life  at  Exton,  and  to  look  forward  to  leaving  it 
with  great  regret.  I  sat  in  the  library  window  one  morning, 
a  book  on  my  knee,  thinking  how  I  should  broach  the  subject 
of  my  departure  to  Miss  Bissett,  when,  on  looking  up,  I  saw 
her  standing  on  the  terrace,  talking  to  a  young  lady  m  a 
riding-dress.  The  latter,  with  one  hand  held  up  the  long 
habit  from  her  feet,  while  she  pointed  with  the  other  to  some 
flowers.  Not  a  look  or  gesture,  not  a  fold  of  the  cloth 
escaped  me ;  immediately  my  eyes  fell  on  her,  there  they 
remained  greedily  fastened.  I  instinctively  felt  that  it  was 
Maud  Neville  ;  a  fine,  well-grown  young  woman,  dark-haired, 
fresh-colored,  whh  agreeable  features,  clear  eyes,  and  a  re- 
markably firm  mouth  and  chin.  The  term  "  good-looking  " 
just  suited  her;  she  Avas  good-looMng  —  something  solid, 
sensible,  pleasant  to  the  eye  if  not  strictly  handsome.  The 
manner,  and  the  expression  of  face,  were  frank  and  rather 
ea"-er :  the  movements  more  quick  than  graceful.  I  watched 
her  for  full  five  minutes  with  intense  interest. 

"  Well,"  I  sighed,  as  they  moved  away,  "  this  then  is 
she  !  I  am  glad  to  have  seen  her.  Strange  !  she  is  not  the 
sort  of  person  I  fancied  that  he —  We  know  so  little  of  men's 
tastes.  She  has  character,  I  am  sure  —  consistency.  Was 
that  the  charm  ?  I  am  better  looking,  I  suppose.  Pshaw  ! 
what  a  fool  I  am,  to  think  that  has  any  thing  in  the  world  to 
do  with  it!  Well,  now  I  must  be  up  and  doing.  They 
must  have  returned  to  Neville  Hall,  and  it  is  time  I  were 

gone." 

"  Excuse  me,  my  dear,"  said  Miss  Bissett's  small  voice, 
opening  the  door  ajar,  "  but  I  nuist  break  through  your  rule 
for  once,  in  favor  of  my  friend  Miss  Neville,  whom  I  am  so 
anxious  you  should  know.  She  only  returned  home  yester- 
day, and  has  ridden  over  to  see  me.  Maud,  my  dear,  come 
in ;  allow  me  to  make  you  acquainted  with  Miss  Hope,  of 
whom  I  have  been  talkmg  to  you." 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  303 

The  young  lady  entered.  I  had  no  means  of  escape,  and 
felt  myself  growing  red  and  white  as  I  bowed.  She  looked  at 
me  in  her  rapid  way  from  head  to  foot :  not  the  impertinent 
stare  of  fashionable  life,  but  a  searching,  intelligent  glance, 
surprised  at  something  unexpected. 

She  held  out  her  hand.  "  I  am  glad  to  make  your  ac- 
quaintance, Miss  Hope.  Our  neighborhood  does  n't  abound 
in  young  ladies,  and  Miss  Bissett  tells  me  so  much  about 
you  "  —  (I  shot  a  look  at  that  lady,  but  she  screwed  up  her 
lips  tightly  to  signify  discretion)  —  "  that  I  am  very  anxious 
we  should  become  friends.  I  hope  you  '11  come  over  and 
see  me." 

"  Tliank  you  —  but  I  must  return  to  London  the  day  after 
to-morrow." 

"  Nonsense,  my  dear,"  said  Miss  Bissett.  "  Brother  will 
never  hear  of  that.  But  you  will  not  have  much  time,  I 
suspect,  to  cultivate  friendships  now,  my  dear  Maud,"  she 
added  with  a  sly  smile. 

"  I  am  not  to  be  married  for  three  months,  if  you  mean 
that,  and  Hubert  will  be  with  us  very  little,  I  believe.  He 
has  so  much  business,  and  lawyers  are  so  slow.  By-the-by, 
you  don't  know  Aunt  Rochford,  I  think  ?  They  are  coming 
over,  if  Violet  is  well  enough,  on  Tuesday,  and  you  must 
really  come  and  make  their  acquaintance.     Do,  now." 

I  was  filled  with  dismay ;  and  Avhen  Miss  Bissett  accepted 
for  hei'self  and  me,  could  only  repeat  that  I  should  have  left 
Exton  before  then,  and  were  it  not  so,  that  I  was  unfit  at 
present  to  mix  in  society. 

"  By-the-by,"  said  Miss  Bissett,  as  if  she  had  hit  suddenly 
on  a  bright  thought,  "  you  know  one  of  the  Kochford 
party  !  —  the  governess.  Miss  What  's-her-name  ?  —  an  old 
friend  of  yours  you  told  me,  I  think.  You  would  hke  to  see 
her,  I  'm  sure." 

"  You  know  Miss  Lateward  ?  You  met  her  abroad,  I  sup- 
pose ?     An  excellent  woman  —  but  stiff.     Plowever,  she  is 


304  RITA : 

brino-ing  up  Violet  capitally,  and  my  aunt  is  really  fond  of 
her,  and  she  does  n't  easily  hke  people,  so  there  must  be 
good  in  her  ;  but  she  bores  me  dreadfully.  I  begged  that  if 
they  came,  Violet  might  have  a  holiday  and  Miss  Lateward 
be  left  behind.  It  is  n't  very  civil  saying  that,  if  she  is  a 
friend  of  yours,  but  I  can't  help  it.  By-the-by,  did  you  ever 
happen  to  meet  my  cousin,  Mr.  Rochford  abroad  ?  " 
"  Y-yes  —  I  have  met  him." 

"  You  never  told  me  so,  my  dear,"  said  Miss  Bissett,  look- 
ing surprised. 

"  Did  n't  I  ?  Oh !  it  was  n't  any  acquaintance  to  speak  of. 
He  has  forgotten  my  name  long  ago,  I  am  sure." 

"He  never  forgets  a  face,  at  all  events,"  laughed  Miss 
Neville.     "  I  am  sure  he  won't  have  forgotten  yours" 

I  shivered  and  turned  aside  to  the  book-case,  under  a  pre- 
tence of  replacing  the  volume  in  my  hand. 

"  Come,   there   is   the   luncheon-bell.       "We   won't   wait. 
When  brother  gets  any  one  to  his  farm,  there  is  no  knowing 
when  he  will  come  away." 
We  Avere  crossing  the  hall. 

"  Will  you  excuse  me,  Miss  Bissett  ?     I  don't  feel  — " 
The  words  died  away  on  my  lips.      There  he  stood  he- 
fore  me. 

The  hall  door  was  open.  Mr.  Bissett  and  he  were  just 
entering.  My  knees  seemed  to  give  way  under  me.  I 
caught  hold  of  the  marble  table  to  prevent  myself  from  fall- 
ing ;  and  by  a  strong  effort  I  managed  to  retain  some  sem- 
blance of  composure. 

He  turned  deadly  pale,  and  stood  looking  at  me  as  if  I 
were  an  apparition.  I  will  confess  that  a  spasm  of  joy  shot 
through  me,  and  my  courage,  strange  to  say,  overcame  my 
emotion  when  I  saw  that  his  self-possession  was  even  more 
upset  than  mine. 

Miss  Neville  was  occupied  in  receiving  the  hearty  saluta- 
tions of  ]Mr.  Bissett.  His  sister  had  passed  on  to  the  dining- 
room. 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  305 

It  was.  necessary  to  speak,  and  at  once.  Miss  Neville  had 
tumefl" Towards  us. 

"  I  see,  Mr.  Rochford,  you  do  not  remember  me  —  Miss 
Hope." 

"  Come,  brother ! "  cried  Miss  Bissett,  from  the  dining- 
room,  "  don't  stand  gossiping  there.  Lmicheon  is  getting 
cold." 

Rochford  said  nothing,  but  offered  me  his  arm ;  then  he 
asked  abruptly, 

"How  long  have  you  been  here?  "What  does  all  this 
mean  —  Miss  —  Hope  ?  How  is  it  that  the  brilliant  capital 
has  spared  you  ?  " 

It  was  Avith  great  difficulty  I  replied  in  a  low  voice,  as  we 
seated  ourselves  at  the  table, 

"  Paris  has  not,  indeed,  spared  me  ;  in  another  sense, 
heavy  sorrows  —  heavy  troubles  of  many  kinds.  That  is 
why  I  am  here.  I  do  not  expect  you  to  spare  me,  either. 
You  find  me  in  a  strange  position." 

Miss  Neville  threw  off  her  riding-hat,  and  said,  carelessly, 

"I  was  sure  you  wouldn't  forget  Miss  Hope,  Hubert. 
She  said  you  would.  You  must  join  in  trying  to  persuade 
her  to  come  over  to  the  Hall  for  a  few  days,  instead  of 
returning  to  London.  I'll  mount  you  on  my  little  bay 
mai'e,  Miss  Hope ;  and  when  that  gentleman  is  busy  with 
deeds  and  lawyers  as  long  as  my  arm  —  I  mean  deeds,  not 
lawyers  —  you  and  I  will  have  some  pleasant  rides  over  the 
country.     If  this  weather  lasts,  it  will  be  charming." 

"  I  hope  it  won't,  my  dear  Maud,"  said  Mi\  Bissett ;  "  it 
will  bring  every  thing  much  too  forward.  We  shall  suffer 
for  it  by-and-by.  Miss  Hope,  a  slice  of  brawn  ?  That  field 
of  Farmer  Smith's  you  passed  on  the  road,  Mr.  Rochford, 
why  the  wheat  there  is  already — " 

"  Barley,  brother,  is  n't  it  ?  Well,  it  don't  signify,  to  be 
sure.  Maud,  how  are  your  anemones  coming  on  ?  Those 
splendid  ones  I  gave  you  before  I  went  abroad  ?     That  was 

20 


306  RITA : 

a  great  piece  of  generosity  on  my  part.  I  can't  bear  giving 
away  my  flowers.  It  is  the  only  thing  in  which  I  believe  I 
am  really  stingy." 

"  They  are  your  children,  dear  IVIiss  Bissett ;  no  wonder. 
My  children  are  my  birds  and  my  dogs.  Unfortunately, 
Hubert  can't  bear  them." 

"  That  is  an  exaggeration,  Maud.  I  think  there  are  places 
fitter  than  a  young  lady's  boudoir  for  three  or  four  pointers 
and  grey-hounds.  And  when  one  is  talking,  or  even  read- 
ing quietly,  there  are  pleasanter  things  than  an  aviary  in  the 
same  room ;  but  in  their  proper  place  — " 

''  Ah  !  that  is  what  people  always  say  when  they  don't  like 
a  thing.  Now,  I  think  your  books,  and  poor-laws,  and  peti- 
tions, and  all  the  rest  of  it,  very  well  in  their  place ;  but 
when  you  are  with  me,  I  prefer  your  conversation." 

The  door  opened  as  Mi\  Bissett  was  laugliing,  and  Mrs. 
Deane  appeared. 

"  Good  morning  to  you  all.  Just  run  in  for  a  moment. 
My  dear  Maud,  welcome  back !  Mr.  Rochford,  how  d  'ye 
do,  sir  ?  Hope  your  mother  is  pretty  well.  Any  news  from 
An  Chester  about  poor  John  Hurst  ?  When  is  he  to  be  tried? 
His  wife  just  laid  in  of  twins.  I've  come,  my  dear,  to  ask 
for  some  wine  for  the  poor  thing.  Is  there  any  chance  of 
her  husband's  being  acquitted  ?    May  I  give  her  any  hope  ?  " 

"Unfortunately,  Mrs.  Deane,  as  far  as  actual  law  goes, 
there  is  no  doubt  he  is  guilty.  In  a  very  similar  case,  last 
year,  a  man  was  transported." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Bissett,  looking  judicial  and  severe,  "  and 
these  petty  thefts  have  become  so  common  of  late." 

"Dear  me!"  said  his  sister.  "After  all,  to  think  of 
transporting  a  man  for  a  few  miserable  turnips  !  " 

"•  Potatoes,  my  love  —  a  sack  of  potatoes  ;  you  can't  be  too 
exact  in  cases  of  this  sort." 

"  His  Avife  was  starving  at  home ! "  burst  in  Mrs.  Deane. 
"  And  then,  to  think  of  an  infamous  wretch  hke  that  Scroggs, 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  307 

who  beats  his  wife  and  nearly  kills  her,  and  is  sentenced  to  a 
month's  hard  labor,  and  fined  five  shillings.  It  is  shame- 
ful!" 

"  If  Hubert  gets  into  Parliament  next  year,"  cried  Maud, 
"  I  shall  make  him  bring  in  a  bill  to  redress  the  wrongs  of 
women.  That  wife-beating  makes  my  blood  boil.  Don't 
you  agree  with  me,  Miss  Hope,  that  American  women  are 
quite  right  about  the  emancipation  of  our  sex  ?  " 

"Emancipation  from  what?"  I  stammered. 

"  Oh !  from  the  swathing-bands  that  society  puts  round  us. 
There  is  my  cousin,  for  instance,  who  thinks  that  a  woman 
ought  to  be  brought  up  in  a  dull  routine,  like  Violet,  and  me. 
As  to  any  knowledge  of  life,  or  a  foreign  education,  or  a 
woman's  having  any  independence  or  ambition,  or  being  any 
thing,  in  short,  but  a  sheet  of  white  paper,  he  can't  bear 
it." 

"You  draw  a  pleasing  picture  of  my  liberal  views, 
Maud." 

"  It  is  only  the  truth,  Hubert.  You  think  a  girl's  educa- 
tion ought  to  be  made  up  like  a  prescription,  so  many  grains 
of  literature  to  so  many  of  housekeeping ;  and  when  made 
up,  to  be  kept  in  a  cool  place  until  required." 

"At  all  events,  my  dear,"  said  Miss  Bissett,  laughing, 
"  you  ought  to  be  glad  that  he  approves  of  the  Avay  in  which 
you  have  been  made  up." 

"  Perhaps  he  finds  now  it  is  not  so  good  in  practice  as  in 
theory.  I  'm  a  painful  instance,  you  know,  of  what  is  called 
a  sohd  education.  I  have  never  been  allowed  to  read  a 
novel,  or  any  other  poetry  than  Milton,  and  that  I  thought  a 
bore." 

"  My  dear ! "  cried  Miss  Bissett,  much  shocked.  "  '  Par- 
adise Lost '  a  bore  !     Impossible  ! " 

"  I  did,  really.  I  suppose  I  have  no  imagination  :  at  all 
events  it  has  never  been  cultivated.  Papa  taught  me  the 
Latin  Grammar,  and  said  I  should  find  it  very  useful.     Per- 


308  RITA : 

haps  I  may  when  I  have  a  house  of  my  own ;  at  present  I 
rather  regret  not  having  learnt  to  play  and  sing." 

"  I  wish  you  did  most  heartily,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs. 
Deane,  who,  having  finished  luncheon,  was  again  in  full  pos- 
session of  her  tongue.  "  I  wish  you  did,  for  then  you  would 
see  after  the  singing  in  church.  It  really  gets  worse  and 
worse.  I  dread  you,  Mr.  Rochford,  with  your  critical  ear  — ■ 
and  your  mother,  too ;  I  remember  how  she  used  to  play. 
But  we  have  really  no  one  here  who  is  musical.  By-the-by, 
Miss  Hope,  perhaps  you  are  ?  No  ?  Sorry  for  that.  Well, 
I  must  n't  stay.     You  will  excuse  me,  I  know." 

"  I  want  to  consult  you,  my  dear  Mrs.  Deane,  about  how 
many  yards  of  flannel  it  takes  to  make  —  " 

"  Come,  my  love,  if  we  have  all  done,  we  may  as  well  go 
into  the  garden.  I  want  to  show  you  my  Cochin-China 
fowls,  Miss  Maud." 

Mr.  Bissett  ojiened  the  windoAV,  and  they  all  stepped 
out. 

This  was  the  moment  to  escape.  I  turned  to  leave  the 
room. 

"  Stop  !  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Hope  —  since  you  wish 
to  be  known  by  that  name  —  may  I  speak  a  Avord  with  you  ?  " 
said  Rochford,  in  a  low  voice. 

My  fingers  twitched  nervously  round  the  handle  of  the 
door.     I  looked  back,  but  did  not  speak. 

"  I  have  to  apologize  for  the  way  in  which  I  met  you  just 
now.  I  was  quite  unprepared  for  this.  Pardon  me  if  my 
manner  seemed  unkind.  I  assure  you  I  was  wounded  to  the 
quick  when  you  referred  to  your  great  sorrow  —  for  I  sym- 
pathized heartily  with  you  when  I  heard  of  it ;  but  we  since 
heard  that  you  had  recovered  your  spirits,  and  were  going 
ao-ain  into  the  w^orld,  and  latterly  that  you  were  —  in  short 
false  rumors,  no  doubt.  May  I  now  take  the  liberty  of  an 
old  acquaintance,  and  ask  you  to  tell  me  how  it  is  you  come 
to  be  here,  and  under  a  feigned  name  ?    I  feel  that  I  have 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  309 

no  claim  on   your   confidence,  but  I  ask  it  because  —  be- 
cause —  " 

"  There  is  nothing  to  apologize  for,  Mr.  Rochford,"  said  I 
coldly.  "  If  you  beheved  those  rumors,  you  are  perfectly  at 
liberty  to  do  so  still.  I  shall  not  contradict  or  explain  any 
thing.  I  have  left  my  home,  and  am  living  under  another 
name.  These  are  fiicts :  to  which  you  may  add,  that  I  in- 
tend earning  my  bread  as  an  artist.  But  I  wish  you  very 
distinctly  to  understand  that  in  accepting  my  friends'  invita- 
tion down  here,  I  had  not  the  most  distant  idea  that  I  was 
coming  into  the  neighborhood  of — that  I  Avas  likely  to  meet 
any  07ie  I  ever  knew  before.  However,  I  leave  this  in  a 
day  or  two,  and  to  avoid  a  great  deal  of  gossip,  I  think  you 
will  agree  that  it  is  better  to  say  nothing  about  me.  Mr. 
and  Miss  Bissett  know  all  the  painful  circumstances  that 
have  led  to  my  being  here ;  and  that,  Mr.  Rochford,  I  sup- 
pose you  will  consider  sufficient." 

His  cheek  flushed,  and  he  looked  annoyed. 

"  You  speak  with  resentment :  but  it  was  from  no  distrust 
I  asked  for  an  explanation,  but  because  you  are  here  in  a 
false  position,  and  because  I  would  vindicate  you  from  those 
very  rumors  you  allude  to.  I  know  much  of  what  you  had 
to  suffer.  I  can  guess  more.  In  memory  of  some  happy 
hours.  Miss  Percival,  let  me  be  of  service  to  you  if  I  can,  in 
any  way.     My  mother  —  " 

He  hesitated,  and  that  firm  face  actually  quivered  with 
the  strength  of  some  repressed  emotion. 

"  You  can  do  me  no  service,  thank  you,"  I  replied,  gently. 
"  We  shall  move  in  very  different  paths  henceforward,  and 
it  is  not  probable  that  we  shall  cross  each  other  again.  Al- 
low me,  therefore,  in  return  for  your  expressions  of  sympa- 
thy, to  offer  you  my  sincere  wishes  that  your  marriage  may 
prove  happy,  and  your  future  be  as  bright  as  it,  no  doubt, 
seems  to  you  now.     Good  morning." 

I  turned  and  left  the  room.     To  linger,  to  prolong  this 


310  RITA:   AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

interview,  was  impossible.  I  could  only  trust  my  self-com- 
mand up  to  a  certain  point.  When  I  got  to  my  own  room  I 
turned  the  key  of  the  door,  and  did  not  come  down  staii-s 
again  until  some  hours  after  Miss  Neville  and  her  cousin  had 
ridden  away. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

It  was  dusk,  and  I  had  paced  the  shrubbery  with  a  rapid 
step.  Yes,  I  must  leave  Exton  at  once  —  why  not  to-night? 
To  linger  in  this  neighborhood,  with  the  chance  of  another 
such  meeting,  was  positive  torture  to  me.  He  was  right.  I 
was  in  a  false  position.  The  very  last  person  who  ought  to 
have  been,  necessarily  was  the  sharer  of  my  secret.  If  it 
should  accidentally  be  discovered  now  —  if  it  should  reach 
Mrs.  Eochford's  ears  —  that  I,  Mai'garet  Percival,  was  come 
into  her  son's  neighborhood  —  my  pride  revolted  fiercely  at 
the  bare  idea. 

I  nearly  ran  against  Mrs.  Deane  in  the  impetuosity  of  my 
self-absorbed  walk.  She  was  crossing  the  shrubbery,  and 
stopped  short. 

"  Bless  me,  Miss  Hope !  why,  where  are  you  going  at  that 
pace  ?  Only  walking  up  and  down  ?  "Well,  I  don't  mind  if 
I  take  a  turn  with  you  before  dinner,  as  all  my  work  is  done 
for  to-day.  Now,  tell  me  what  you  think  of  Miss  Neville. 
No  fool,  you  know,  under  that  off-hand  manner.  Plenty  of 
determination  and  good  sense,  eh  ?  " 

"  She  has  a  frank,  fresh  character,  apparently,  which  is 
always  pleasant." 

"But  that  very  frankness  prevents  her  being  generally 
appreciated.     Many  people  don't  like  her." 

"  Do  you  think  that  signifies,  as  long  as  the  few  —  the  one 
—  appreciates  her  ?  If  she  is  wise,  that  will  be  quite  suffi- 
cient for  her." 

( 311 ) 


312  RITA: 

"  Ah !  hem  —  don't  know  —  can't  say.  I  doubt  the  one 
appreciating  her  as  she  derives.  However,  it  is  no  business 
of  mine." 

"  You  are  not  serious,  Mrs.  Deane  ?  They  have  known 
each  other  from  children,  have  they  not  ?  and  now  that  Mr. 
Rochford  is  going  to  marry  his  cousin,  why  should  you  doubt 
his  appreciating  her  good  qualities  ?  " 

"  Well,  perhaps  I  am  wrong ;  but  I  know  she  never  had 
an  idea  he  cared  about  her  until  he  proposed,  and  if  she 
did  n't  believe  him  to  be  too  highly  principled  to  marry  her 
while  he  is  in  love  with  somebody  else,  I'm  sure  she 
would  n't  have  him." 

"  Oh !  So  then  there  was  some  other  attachment,  was 
there  ?  "     A  pause. 

"Well,  it's  all  past  and  done  with  now,  my  dear  Miss 
Hope,  so  I  suppose  there 's  no  great  harm  in  telling  you  that 
his  mother  was  for  some  time  very  uneasy  about  his  marry- 
ing some  half-French  girl  he  knew  in  Paris.  She  had  been 
very  badly  brought  up,  and  was  in  shocking  society,  and, 
altogether,  Mrs.  Kochford  was  naturally  in  a  great  'fright. 
The  idea  of  such  a  daughter-in-law,  coming  down  here  to 
turn  every  thing  topsy-turvy,  was  dreadful,  of  course,  for 
she  likes  exercising  her  influence  on  her  son.  She  is  an 
excellent  woman,  but  she  has  that  little  faihng— and  though 
she  wished  him  to  marry,  she  also  wished  to  choose  his  wife 
for  him." 

I  stopped  to  gather  a  primrose.  "  Well,  and  how  did  it 
end?" 

"Oh!  I  believe  she  wrote  to  him,  imploring  him  to  do 
nothino-  rash.  But  he  was  very  much  infatuated  for  a  long 
time,  and  declared  that  the  girl  would  be  very  different  if 
she  were  in  other  circumstances  ;  until  at  last  his  eyes  were 
opened  to  her  real  character,  and,  to  his  mother's  great  joy, 
he  unexpectedly  returned  home.  How  she  managed  it  I  'm 
sure  I  don't  know ;  but  the  great  wish  of  her  hfe  was  realized 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  313 

at  last,  and  he  proposed  to  his  cousin  Maud.  He  told  her 
what  'she  knew  ah-eady  —  that  he  had  loved,  and  been  dis- 
appointed ;  and  as  she  did  n't  care  for  any  one,  she  accepted 
him.  She  is  really  fond  of  him  in  her  way,  too,  and  I  dare 
say  they  will  get  on  very  well  by-and-by,  only  I  dotTkt  think 
they  are  pai'ticularly  suited ;  and  certainly  he  is  not  very 
like  an  ardent  lover,  is  he  ?  Now,  just  fancy  his  riding  off 
again  to  Rochford  to-night !  " 

I  drew  a  long  breath.  "  Oh  !  indeed  ?  And  does  he  not 
return  to  Neville  Hall  ?  " 

"  He  is  to  bring  his  mother  there  next  week.  But  he  is 
very  little  there  himself,  always  having  business  or  some- 
thing that  takes  him  away.  Eeally,  it  is  very  good  of  Maud 
to  stand  it." 

"  Ah  !  very.  By-the-by,  you  were  kind  enough  yesterday 
to  propose  writing  to  a  cousin  of  yours,  who  I  think  you  said 
is  a  printseller  in  London,  relative  to  my  boarding  in  his 
house.  It  would  be  doing  me  .a  great  service  if  you  would 
do  so,  as  I  must  leave  this  on  Monday." 

"  Why,  my  dear  Miss  Hope,  I  sha  n't  be  able  to  get  his 
answer.  This  is  Saturday.  If  I  write  by  this  evening's 
post,  I  can't  have  an  answer  before  Tuesday.  And,  indeed, 
I  think  it  would  be  a  very  great  advantage  to  you  in  aU 
ways  being  in  a  respectable  house  like  my  cousin's.  His 
wife  is  an  excellent  woman,  and  he  could  be  of  such  use  to 
you  in  your  profession.  You  must  just  put  off  your  depart- 
ure till  Wednesday,  my  dear;  it  really  is  not  respectable 
your  going  to  that  great  Babylon  alone,  and  getting  into  you 
don't  know  Avhere  for  lodgings.  No,  no ;  better  wait  another 
day,  and  have  John's  answer.  There 's  six  o'clock  striking, 
and  dinner  at  a  quarter  past !  What  will  Mr.  Deane  say  to 
me  ?     Good-night,  Miss  Hope,  good-night !  " 

I  was  left  alone  there  upon  the  bench.  My  eyes  were 
opened  now.  I  no  longer  doubted  that  he  had  loved  me  — 
nay,  that  he  loved  me  still.     Did  I  exult  in  this  ?    No.    His 


314  RITA : 

love  had  not  been  strong  enough  to  resist  the  pressure  from 
Avithout  —  a  mother's  solemn  warnings  and  tender  supplica- 
tions, and  the  world's  calumny.  The  love  I  dreamed  of  Avas 
no  weak  infant-passion,  to  be  weaned  like  this.  Oh  no,  oh 
no !  my  heart  cried  aloud.  I,  the  poor,  despised  girl,  of 
such  poor  moral  training,  found  strength,  even  at  the  eleventh 
hour,  to  resist  this  heart-perjury,  while  you,  Hubert  Roch- 
ford,  the  man  of  pure  life  and  lofty  aims,  trampled  under 
foot  that  sacred  fire  of  love.  The  world  can  never  accuse 
you  —  /  even  have  no  right  to  do  so ;  no  word  ever  passed 
between  us.  But  through  the  long  years  to  come,  how  will 
the  secret  monitor  at  your  heart  speak  to  you  in  the  watches 
of  the  night  ?  Do  you  choose  your  wife  as  part  of  the  great 
social  scheme  ?  a  mere  helpmate  in  the  outer  vineyard,  not  a 
home-refuge  from  the  disappointments  and  unfruitful  labor 
there  ?  If,  indeed,  she  be  content  with  such  a  lot,  well ;  but 
if,  having  asked  for  bread,  she  finds  she  has  no  teeth  for 
stone  —  beware,  Hubert  Rochford,  beware  ! 

The  following  was  the  first  day  of  the  week,  essentially 
one  of  peace  at  Exton,  and  as  unlike  the  brilhant  Paris  Sun- 
day to  which  I  had  been  accustomed,  when  all  the  frivolities 
of  the  past  week  come  to  maturity  and  burst  into  blossom  on 
the  Boulevards,  as  it  was  unlike  the  jaded  London  Sabbath, 
where  dingy  streets  seem  mourning  that  another  week  has 
commenced. 

I  sat  in  the  little  church,  and  looked  down,  probably  for 
the  last  time  in  my  life,  upon  that  peasant  congregation. 
Happy  and  tranquil  life,  how  much  to  be  envied !  I  thoucrht 
to  myself  That  good  gray  head,  in  horn-spectacles,  reading 
his  Bible  on  the  same  oak  bench  where  he  stood,  as  a  child, 
beside  his  mother,  listening  in  decent  reverence  to  the 
minister's  discourse,  is  not  his  round  of  labor,  and  the  rest 
that  labor  sweetens,  better  than  all  the  feverish  wants  and 
struggles  of  the  world  ?  Though  Mr.  Deane's  discourse  be 
marvellously  dull  in  our  ears,  though  we  hold  the  choir  to 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  315 

be  somewhat  harsh  and  nasal,  they  are  not  so  to  that  old 
man.  Tn  the  fulness  of  time  he  will  be  laid  beside  his 
faithful  wife  in  the  green  churchyard  where  his  fathers  sleep 
before  him  :  and  another  generation  will  grow  up,  and  pass 
away  as  he  has  done,  and  the  same  psalm  will  be  sung  on 
Sunday  mornings,  and  swallows  will  twitter  as  they  do  now, 
under  the  eaves  of  the  old  church  porch. 

I  never  felt  so  strongly  drawn  to  the  country  as  I  did  then, 
so  loth  to  exchange  it  for  the  crowd  and  hurry  of  a  capital. 
I  w'ould  willingly  have  gone  to  live  in  any  obscure  village, 
where  among  the  poor  I  might  have  found  a  field  for  exer- 
tion. But  I  felt  it  was  not  to  be.  I  must  work  hai'd  for 
my  brothers  and  myself,  and  this  could  only  be  in  London, 
where  there  Avas,  no  doubt,  misery  and  sorrow  enough  in  all 
shapes  to  be  sought  out.  The  peace  of  the  country  was  for 
others :  the  happiness  of  listening  to  wind-stirred  boughs 
and  quiet  field-sounds  was  not  for  me. 

But  at  the  earnest  representation  of  my  kind  hosts,  backed 
by  Mrs.  Deane,  I  consented  to  remain  at  Exton  until 
"  Cousin  John's  "  answer  should  be  received,  which,  at  latest, 
must  be  on  Wednesday.  Had  Hubert  Eochford  still  been 
in  the  neighborhood,  I  should  have  held  firmly  to  my  origi- 
nal resolve  ;  but  he  had  returned  home,  so  there  was  no 
chance  of  our  meeting,  and  on  Wednesday  nothing  would 
prevent  my  being  on  my  road  to  London. 

Miss  Bissett  came  to  me  early  on  Monday  morning,  with 
a  note  in  her  hand. 

"  Maud  wants  us  very  much  to  go  over  there  to-morrow 
and  spend  the  day,  if  you  won't  sleep,  my  dear.  You  will 
come  with  me,  won't  you  ?     Do,  now." 

"  Pray  do  not  let  me  prevent  your  going,  Miss  Bissett, 
but  I  cannot.  You  see  how  I  behaved  the  other  day.  I 
am  not  fit  for  civilized  society." 

"  Well !  it  will  be  a  great  disappointment  to  her,  I  know. 
This  is  what  she  says  about  you  in  her  odd  way."     She 


316  eita: 

opened  the  note  and  read :  "  I  took  a  fancy  to  your  friend 
Miss  Hope,  though  I  suspect  it  is  more  than  she  did  to  me. 
If  I  were  a  man  I  should  fall  desperately  in  love  with  her 
(only  desperate  love  is  out  of  fashion,  I  am  told).  I  want  to 
see  her  again,  and  I  want  Aunt  Rochford  to  see  her  ;  so  do 
bring  her  over  on  Tuesday.'  I  suppose  Mrs.  Rochford 
comes  to-morrow  too,  then.  Now,  my  dear,  do  let  me 
say—" 

"Thank  you,  it  is  quite  impossible.  I  am  very  much 
obliged  to  jNliss  Neville.  I  should  have  no  objection  to  see 
her  again,  but  it  is  out  of  the  question.  I  cannot  meet 
strangers,  Miss  Bissett ;  pray  do  not  urge  me." 

The  amiable  but  obstinate  little  lady,  however,  was  not  to 
be  baffled  even  now. 

"  Well,  then,  my  dear  Miss  Hope,  will  you  let  me  drive 
you  over,  quietly,  this  afternoon  ?  I  should  like  you  to  see 
the  old  Hall,  and  as  you  say  you  do  not  mind  Maud,  why 
you  can  have  no  objection  ?  " 

What  will  not  a  steady  persistence  achieve  ?  I  lothfuUy 
consented  at  last. 

Neville  Hall  was  four  miles  distant.  Miss  Bisset  drove 
her  gray  ponies,  and  was  sufficiently  occupied  in  keeping 
them  in  hand,  while  I  silently  enjoyed  the  fragrant  breath 
of  spring  as  we  drove  along  the  lanes.  At  last  we  came  in 
sight  of  the  mansion,  a  fine  old  building,  belonging  to  an 
age  when  men  knew  not  architectural  shams,  before  Gre- 
cian porticos  overshadowed  our  doorways,  and  stucco  had 
superseded  honest  scarlet  bricks. 

Miss  Neville  met  us  on  the  steps.  She  was  surrounded 
by  five  or  six  large  dogs,  who  alarmed  me  somewhat  until  I 
understood  that  they  only  meant  to  be  friendly  when  they 
thrust  their  great  cold  noses  into  my  hand. 

"  Down,  Ponto !  Be  quiet,  Nep.  Ain't  you  ashamed  of 
yourself,  sir,  eh  ?  Are  those  your  manners  to  company  ? 
Miss  Hope,  I  am  glad  to  see  you  at  our  old  house,  though  I 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  317 

wish  you  would  have  come  to-morrow.  '  Better  soon  than 
never/  though.  Don't  be  afraid  of  the  dogs,  they  won't  hurt 
you.  "Will  you  come  in  and  see  papa  ?  and  afterwards  we 
can  walk  about." 

We  passed  through  the  hall,  round  which  were  stuffed 
birds  in  glass-cases  —  the  trophies  of  a  departed  race  of 
sportsmen  —  and  entered  the  library.  Mi*.  Neville  was 
standing  with  his  back  to  the  fire.  He  bowed  with  great 
formality  to  us  both,  and  then  extended  his  hand  frigidly  to 
Miss  Bissett.  It  was  easy  to  see,  as  Shenstone  says  of 
some  one,  that  "  he  was  the  dread  of  all  jovial  conversations. 
....  and  yet  he  had  acquired  the  character  of  the  most 
ingenious  person  of  his  county ;  not  that  he  had  ever  made 
any  great  discovery  of  his  talents,  but  a  few  oracular  decla- 
rations, joined  with  a  common  opinion  that  he  was  writing 
something  for  posterity,  completed  his  reputation."  Mr. 
Neville  had  indeed  done  his  work  for  posterity,  for  which  it 
was  to  be  hoped  that  posterity  would  be  as  duly  grateful  as 
the  present  age  was  indiffei-ent ;  and  instead  of  "  a  few 
oracular  sentences,"  his  conversation  was  inexorable  as  fate. 
You  saw  it  comhig  on ;  you  felt  that  nothing  could  stop  or 
change  its  course,  or  mitigate  it  in  the  smallest  degree. 
Nothing  less  high-spirited  than  his  daughter  could  have 
retained  any  elasticity  under  such  circumstances,  Mr.  Ne- 
ville quoted  Virgil  at  us  on  the  subject  of  the  weather,  but 
seemed  very  indifferent  when  I  admired  his  old  house,  and 
asked  some  questions  about  the  fine  portraits  on  the  wall. 
One,  indeed,  of  the  late  Mr.  Neville,  with  periwig  and  snuff- 
box, he  pointed  to,  informing  me  that  he,  his  father,  had 
built  a  church  and  endowed  an  hospital ;  but  when  I  learned 
that  this  was  the  same  gentleman  who  had  painted  all  the 
oak  wainscots  a  pale  salmon-color,  my  wrath  was  kindled 
against  him,  and  I  immediately  saw  a  strong  family  likeness 
to  the  present  proprietor.  We  were  shown  the  Blue  Cham- 
ber in  which  his  Majesty  King  Charles,  of  blessed  memory, 


318  kita: 

once  slept ;  and  the  haunted  chamber,  in  which  no  one  had 
ever  slept  since  a  certain  Neville  was  said  to  have  roasted 
his  wife  there.  Then  Miss  Neville  took  us  to  her  own 
private  room,  where  an  aviary  of  singing-birds  occupied  one 
entire  window,  and  passing  through  a  glass  door,  we  de- 
scended into  the  gardens,  and  visited  the  fish-ponds,  and 
the  peacocks,  and  the  owl  in  his  solitary  grotto,  which  Avere 
Miss  Neville's  peculiar  charge. 

"  You  must  be  very  happy  in  this  charming  home  of 
yours  ?  " 

"I  suppose  I  am  —  I  never  thought  about  it.  "When 
"Willie  has  been  at  home  and  is  gone  back  to  college,  I  find 
the  difference,  and  am  rather  lonely.  We  suit  each  other 
exactly,  Willie  and  I.  Do  you  know,  Miss  Bissett,  I  used 
to  think  once  that  we  should  always  live  together,  like  you 
and  your  brother." 

"  Humph !  my  dear.  I  am  afraid  Mr.  William  would 
hardly  like  such  a  quiet  life  for  very  long." 

"  You  think  him  very  wild  and  extravagant ;  so  he  is, 
but  he  has  such  a  good  heart,  and  is  so  fond  of  me.  I 
understand  him  better  than  papa  does,  and  I  intend  him 
some  day  to  marry  Violet,  which  will  be  what  historians 
call  '  a  double  alliance.'  I  am  so  sorry  poor  Vi  is  not 
allowed  to  come  here  to-day.  She  is  left  with  that  excel- 
lent old  dragon  Lateward  (beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Hope), 
as  my  society,  I  suppose,  was  considered  to  be  detrimental 
to  the  studies." 

"  I  thought  Mrs.  Rochford  was  to  come  to-morrow,  my 
dear." 

"  Oh  !  no,  this  afternoon.  Hubert  brings  his  mother,  and 
leaves  her  for  a  day  or  two.  Do  stay  and  see  her ;  they 
ought  to  be  here  before  long." 

The  stable-clock  struck  four. 

"  Dear  Miss  Bissett,  you  don't  hke  driving  at  dusk  —  had 
we  not  better  be  starting  home  ? " 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  319 

I  plucked  the  good  lady's  sleeve  so  imploringly  that  she 
resisted  Miss  Neville's  efforts  to  detain  us,  and  the  carriage 
came  round. 

The  ponies  were  very  fresh,  and  as  Miss  Bissett  stepped 
in,  a  shot  in  the  wood  close  by  startled  them. 

"  Bless  me,  my  dear  Maud,  what  is  that  ?  " 

"  The  gamekeeper  having  a  battue  in  honor  of  our  guests. 
But  take  care  of  those  little  grays.  Miss  Bissett,  they  want  a 
tight  hand.  Good-by,  Miss  Hope ;  something  tells  me  we 
shall  meet  again  very  soon." 

I  had  just  seated  myself ;  Miss  Bissett  was  gathering  up 
the  reins,  and  the  boy  had  stupidly  left  the  ponies'  heads  to 
clamber  into  his  seat  behind,  when  there  was  another  shot, 
still  closer  than  the  first,  and  the  little  animals  began 
rearing.  Miss  Neville  sprang  forward,  but  it  was  too  late. 
The  traces  had  broken :  the  ponies  set  off  full  gallop  down 
the  avenue. 

I  was  terrified,  but  sat  quite  still.  Miss  Bissett  disjilayed 
more  nerve  than  I  should  have  expected,  but  the  i*eins  had 
slipped  from  her  hand.  Nothing  could  stop  us  now  but 
the  lodge-gate.  Trees  and  bushes  flew  past:  all  the  blood 
seemed  rushing  to  my  head.  I  could  no  longer  see.  I 
have  a  confused  impression  of  Miss  Bissett's  giving  a  horri- 
fied cry,  and  of  seeing  some  dark  object  coming  on  the  road 
towards  us. 

The  next  moment,  crash  we  came  against  it !  There  was 
a  piercing  shriek,  and  I  felt  a  shock  as  if  every  bone  in  mj 
body  was  broken.  The  gravel  flew  up  into  my  eyes,  and  I 
remember  nothing  more. 

We  had  driven  against  the  Rochford  carriage,  and  the 
concussion  had  overturned  us  upon  the  side  on  which  I  sat. 
I  remember  opening  my  eyes  once  and  recognizing  the 
anguished  gaze  of  the  person  in  whose  arms  I  lay :  then  1 
relapsed  with  a  pleasurable  sigh  into  darkness,  and  remained 
unconscious  for  several  hours. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

A  STRANGE  room,  round  the  walls  of  which  hung  rods 
and  fishing-tackle,  and  two  figures,  equally  strange  to  me, 
standing  by  the  bedside.  This  is  what  I  saw  when  I  opened 
my  eyes. 

"  She  is  coming  round,  ma  'am.  The  head  has  bled  a 
good  deal,  so  we  shan't  require  to  take  any  blood.  The 
ankle,  unfortunately,  has  begun  to  swell  up,  so  that  I  can't 
tell  whether  there  is  any  thing  broken.  I  am  half  afraid ; 
but  you  can't  do  better  than  continue  lotioning  it ;  and  I  '11 
ride  over  in  the  morning,  ma  'am." 

I  knew  now  that  I  was  not  dreaming.  I  felt  a  throbbing, 
burning  pain  all  up  my  right  foot  and  ankle.  At  last  the 
door  opened,  and  a  familiar  face  approached  the  bed. 

"  Betsy,  tell  me  where  —  "I  began,  faintly. 

"  Hush  !  You  must  n't  talk,  not  on  no  account.  Drink 
this,  there 's  a  dear,  and  keep  quiet." 

I  felt  cooled  and  refreshed  after  taking  the  draught  she 
brought  me,  and  fell  asleep.  Several  times  in  the  course  of 
the  night  I  woke,  and  one  or  other  of  those  women  was 
sure  to  be  in  the  room :  moving  stealthily  about,  under  the 
tremulous  spotted  sha<^ows  of  a  rushlight.  I  never  won- 
dered, or  asked  myself  who  that  other  watcher  might  be. 
My  brain  was  in  too  confused  a  state  to  do  more  than  pas- 
sively admit  impressions.  "When  I  opened  my  eyes  in  the 
gray  of  the  morning,  Betsy  alone  was  with  me :  I  began  to 
collect  my  scattered  thoughts. 

(  320  )  ' . 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  321 

"  Tell  me  where  I  am,  Betsy.  What  has  happened  ?  I 
can't  j'est  any  longer  without  knowing." 

"  You  are  at  Neville  Hall,  Miss  Marg'ret,  but  not  on  no 
account  to  speak,  if  you  please.  I  were  sent  for,  and  came 
direct  after  the  haccident ;  and  Miss  Bissett,  she  escaped 
miraculous !  She  were  a  good  deal  decomposed,  beside  a 
slight  confusion  of  the  face,  and  lost  her  front,  but  nothink 
to  speak  of." 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  particularly  —  " 

"  There 's  the  doctor's  ring,  and  you  're  not  on  no  account 
to»speak,  miss." 

"  Stop !  I  insist  on  it,  Betsy.  I  have  been  delirious  — 
light-headed !     Have  I  said  any  thing  —  " 

"  No,  no,  deary,  not  a  ha'porth.     Never  spoke  a  word." 

"  And  who  is  the  tall  lady  in  black  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Rochford." 

****** 
****** 

It  is  a  marvel  I  had  not  a  brain  fever,  such  was  the  state 
of  strong  but  suppressed  mental  excitement  I  was  in  on 
finding  that  I  was  an  inmate  of  the  same  house  with  Mrs. 
Rochford  and  her  son,  and  that  here  I  must  remain.  The 
doctor  authoritatively  pronounced  against  my  being  moved  ; 
and  said  I  must  make  up  my  mind  to  be  a  prisoner  for 
some  weeks  probably.  The  injuries  to  the  head,  indeed, 
were  slight,  but  the  inflammation  to  my  ankle  continued 
unabated  ;  it  was  a  very  severe  sprain,  if  nothing  worse, 
and  my  pulse  was  so  high,  added  to  my  extreme  restless- 
ness, that  the  doctor  looked  grave.  He  was  deeper-sighted 
than  most  country  practitioners,  and  he  soon  perceived 
that  ftiore  was  to  be  apprehended  from  the  irritation  of  the 
brain,  caused  by  some  secret  anxiety,  than  from  any  local 
injuries. 

The  room  was  kept  dark,  and  for  days  Mrs.  Rochford 
and  Betsy  were  the  only  persons,  except  the  doctor,  who 

21 


322  RITA : 

entered  it.  The  former  little  suspected  how  her  presence 
tended  to  increase  the  state  of  feverish  excitement  in  wliich 
I  lay.  She  Was  the  one  object  of  my  study  and  specula- 
tion :  my  eyes  followed  every  motion  of  that  gaunt  figure 
about  the  room.  She  seldom  spoke ;  when  she  did,  it  was 
in  a  whisper.  The  third  morning  she  opened  the  Book  of 
Job,  and  read  part  of  that  glorious  poem  in  a  low,  sonorous 
voice.  What  was  it  about  her  that  reminded  me  of  my 
Aunt  Mary  ?  Certainly  not  her  face  or  figure.  She  was 
harder-featured  and  a  larger  woman ;  but  the  expression  of 
her  eyes,  and  certain  expressions  of  mind  shown  in  peculiar 
movements  and  intonations,  were  strangely  like  my  aunt, 
and  drew  me  more  towards  Mrs.  Rochford  than  even  her 
tender  and  motherly  care. 

Once,  through  the  stillness,  I  heard  a  step  that  came  softly 
down  the  passage  and  stopped  at  my  door,  and  when  Mrs. 
Rochford  had  opened  it,  I  thought  I  recognized  the  voice 
that  whispered  without ;  but  it  might  have  been  fancy. 

Gradually,  more  and  more,  in  spite  of  my  deep-rooted 
dread  of  Mrs.  Rochford,  I  felt  that  there  existed  one  of  those 
inexplicable  sympathies  between  us  that  every  one  has  expe- 
rienced, at  some  time  in  his  life,  towards  a  perfect  stranger. 
I  had  not  spoken  to  her ;  and  yet  I  could  have  fallen  on  her 
neck  and  opened  all  my  heart  to  her  —  under  other  circum- 
stances ! 

Maud  Neville  was  allowed  to  see  me  on  the  third  day ;  I 
was  much  better,  though  still  very  weak,  and  forbidden  to 
talk  much. 

"  You  frightened  us  dreadfully,  my  dear  Miss  Hope.  I 
really  thought  you  were  killed  when  Hubert  carried  you 
into  the  house.  He  rode  off  instantly  for  the  doctor,  and  we 
were  in  such  a  state  till  he  returned !  You  see  it  was  decreed 
by  Fate  that  you  should  stay  here !  You  would  n't  yield, 
and  Fate  is  not  to  be  thwarted  with  impunity.  Now  Miss 
Bissett,  who  was  more  amenable,  came  oflf  very  easily.     So 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  323 

odd,  being  such  a  weak  little  creature,  tliat  she  should  n't  be 
more  hurt." 

"  Have  you  heard  how  she  is  to-day  ?  " 

"  Oh !  as  well  as  ever ;  only  dreadfully  distressed  about 
you  —  sends  over  twice  a  day.  The  old  gentleman  rode 
over  himself  this  morning,  like  Count  Ory,  he  said  (in  some 
opera  they  saw  abroad),  come  to  invade  our  conventual  soli- 
tude !  You  know  that  we  are  three  lone  women  here  ? 
Papa  and  Hubert  obliged  to  go  up  to  London  about  those 
horrid  settlements." 

"  Ah  !     Will  they  be  long  absent  ?  " 

"  A  week,  I  suppose,  or  more." 

"  Your  convent  is  very  quiet.  I  'm  afraid  you  've  hushed 
even  your  birds'  voices  on  my  account.  Where  am  I  ?  In 
what  part  of  the  house  ?  " 

"  On  the  ground-floor,  opening  into  my  boudoir.  This  is 
Willie's  own  den,  and  these  are  his  trophies  and  implements 
of  war.  There  is  his  rod,  and  below  it  the  outline  of  a  trout 
weighing  eight  pounds,  he  caught  last  summer.  Dear  fel- 
low !  he  never  had  his  room  so  honored  before ;  but  it  was 
more  convenient  to  carry  you  in  here ;  and,  Avhen  you  are 
well  enough,  we  can  wheel  you  on  the  terrace,  and  into  my 
room,  so  easily." 

I  assured  her  I  should  be  able  to  walk  about  in  a  few 
days.  I  was,  indeed,  sanguine  of  being  well  enough  to  leave 
the  Hall  before  Hubert's  return.  But,  although  the  follow- 
ing day  I  was  strong  enough  to  sit  up  for  a  few  hours,  the 
doctor  gave  me  no  hope  of  being  able  to  put  my  foot  to  the 
ground  for  three  weeks  at  least.  He  said  (at  Mrs.  Roch- 
ford's  instigation,  I  suspect)  that  I  must  give  up  all  idea  of 
being  removed  to  Exton,  or  elsewhere,  for  the  j^resent.  The 
slightest  movement  of  the  ankle  might  retard  my  recovery 
for  months. 

One  of  the  few  things  that  had,  by  accident,  been  thrown 
into  my  box  the  night  I  left  home  was  an  old  sketch-book, 


324  RITA : 

and  I  tried  to  give  myself  the  semblance  of  employment,  as 
I  lay  near  the  window,  by  sketching  some  beech-trees  near 
the  house.  But  the  fingers  moved  listlessly :  the  pencil  lay 
idle  between  them  for  the  half  hour  at  a  time,  while  Mrs. 
Rochford  plied  her  energetic  knitting-pins  beside  me.  There 
were  times  when  it  seemed  as  if  all  the  vigor  of  her  mind 
could  not  shake  off  a  certain  gloomy  preoccupation ;  and 
then  the  long  lapses  of  conversation  were  only  interrupted 
occasionally  by  a  deep  sigh.  She  would  suddenly  turn  round 
after  a  while,  as  she  did  one  morning,  with  the  question, 

"  Where  were  you  born  and  brought  up.  Miss  Hope  ?  " 

« In  Paris." 

"  Ever  been  to  school  ?  " 

"  No  ;  —  excepting,  perhaps,  in  that  of  adversity." 

She  looked  at  me  for  a  moment  in  silence.  "  The  best 
we  can  go  to,  and  we  are  never  too  old  for  it.  I  am  an  old 
woman,  and  have  had  plenty  ;  and  yet,  perhaps,  my  school- 
ing is  not  done."  Then,  after  a  pause,  she  added,  "  But  you 
are  too  young  for  that,  my  dear.  Don't  get  into  a  senti- 
mental way  of  talking  about  sorrow.  It  comes  soon 
enough." 

"  I  am  only  saying  the  truth,  Mrs.  Rochford.  I  have  had 
an  unhappy  home,  and  I  am  alone  in  the  world." 

"It  is  strange  how  unequally  troubles  and  crosses  are 
allotted  in  life !  There  is  Maud,  for  instance,  who  is  just 
your  age,  and,  except  her  dear  mother's  death,  has  never 
had  a  grief.     Still,  I  am  not  sure  that — " 

"  Miss  Neville,"  said  I,  hurriedly,  "  has  such  a  bright  dis- 
position by  nature,  that  it  would  be  difficult  to  cloud  it." 

"  She  is  a  very  good  girl  —  few  like  her  for  sterUng  worth 
—  and  capitally  constituted  for  the  kind  of  life  she  will  lead 
when  she  is  married :  visiting  the  poor,  and  taking  her  full 
share  in  the  work  of  a  country  life.  She  has  no  nerves  or 
sensitiveness.  Very  few  girls  are  fitted  by  their  education 
for  the  kind  of  thing,  and  they  get  soon  disgusted  with 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  325 

coarseness  and  ignorance.  They  would  like,  perhaps,  to 
have  a  model  school,  and  trellised  cottages,  with  old  women 
in  red  cloaks,  but  they  shrink  from  dirt  and  disease.  Is  n't 
it  so  ?     Don't  you  feel  that  ?  " 

"Perhaps.  I  don't  think  I  should;  but  I  have  never 
tried." 

"  And  you  are  one  of  the  few  girls  to  whom  I  loould  give 
a  trial,  Miss  Hope,  though  you  have  been  brought  up 
abroad,  against  which  I  have  an  old-fashioned  English 
prejudice." 

"  Does  Mr.  Neville  interest  himself  about  the  poor  ?  "  said 
I,  anxious  to  change  the  subject. 

"  Mr.  Neville  is  an  upright,  worthy  man,  Miss  Hope ;  but 
he  cannot  be  said  to  interest  himself  about  any  thing  except 
dead  languages  and  dictionaries,  which  I  don't  understand. 
He  does  n't  know  a  turnip  from  a  potatoe,  so  how  can  he 
care  about  the  country  ?  and  though  I  've  tried  to  get  him  to 
exert  himself  in  improving  the  intellectual  condition  of  his 
peasantry,  he  only  shakes  his  head  and  quotes  some  Latin, 
to  the  effect  that  they  are  all  swine,  which  is  true  enough, 
but  is  that  a  reason  we  are  not  to  try  and  elevate  them  ? 
My  dear  sister,  whose  nature  was  wai-m  and  genial,  never 
had  much  sympathy  with  her  husband." 

"  Why  did  she  marry  him  ?  " 

"  She  had  seen  very  little  of  the  world,  and  had  had  no 
opportunities  of  comparing  him  with  any  one  else.  It  was 
a  very  suitable  marriage  in  worldly  respects,  and  my  father 
had  long  wished  it." 

"  It  tells  against  a  secluded  youth  ;  don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  Perhaps,"  she  replied,  gravely ;  and  then  added,  "  The 
responsibility  of  parents  in  these  cases  is  a  very  grave  one." 

Miss  Neville  stood  beside  my  sofa  in  her  boudoir  that 
afternoon,  as  I  was  finishing  my  sketch  in  the  window. 

"  I  wish  I  could  draw.  I  can't  do  any  of  those  sort  of 
things,  unfortunately." 


326  '  RITA  : 

I  offered  to  give  her  such  instruction  as  I  could.  She  sat 
down  with  a  smile. 

"  Do  you  think  people  without  talent  can  ever  arrive  at 
doing  any  thing,  Miss  Hope  ?  " 

"  Hardly  any  one  is  without  some  talent  for  some  one 
thing,  however  small ;  hut  it  may  lie  dormant." 

"  I  don't  think  all  the  teaching  in  the  world  would  make 
me  a  musician,  or  make  me  draw  really  well.  I  wish  it 
could,  for  Hubert's  sake  —  more  than  for  my  own.  He 
ought  to  have  an  accomplished  wife." 

"  For  his  sake,  then,  try  and  become  one,"  I  said,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  Do  you  believe  in  what  is  called  '  improving  oneself? ' " 

"  Of  course.     Why  not  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't.  I  am  speaking  of  the  dulce,  you  know,  not 
the  utile,  as  papa  would  say.  One  must  have  a  natural  gift 
for  these  things,  otherwise  it  is  vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit. 
I  dare  say  you  drew. from  your  cradle  ?  " 

"  I  did  :  but  a  talent  often  lies  dormant  for  years.  Ber- 
nardin  de  St.  Pierre,  for  instance,  never  wrote  till  he  was 
near  fifty  :  besides  many  others." 

"  Still  the  disposition  must  be  there.  Now  really  your 
drawings  are  good  enough  to  be  an  artist's." 

"  What  do  you  understand  by  an  artist  ?  " 

"  Oh !  any  one  who  makes  it  their  profession,  I  suppose  — 
who  sells  their  things." 

"  In  that  sense  I  am  an  artist,  though  not  in  the  higher 
sense,  I  fear.     Did  you  not  know  this  ?  " 

"  No.  I  had  n't  an  idea  of  it.  I  should  have  thought  — 
I  mean,  I  should  never  —  no,  what  I  do  mean  is,  that  I 
never  met  any  one  about  whom  I  felt  so  much  curiosity 
as  I  do  about  you.  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  I  can't  help 
it.  You  seem  to  have  seen  so  much  of  the  Avorld  for  your 
age,  and  —  but  I  see  I  am  paining  you  :  forgive  me ;  I  am 
inconsiderate." 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  327 

There  was  a  pause,  and  then  Miss  Neville  asked  ab- 
ruptly, 

"  Have  you  any  sketches  of  Paris  in  that  book  ?  That  is 
where  your  family  live,  I  believe  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  longer  any  family,  Miss  Neville." 

She  took  the  book  on  her  knees,  and  turned  over  the 
sketches,  examining  each  with  great  care.  She  had  gone  half 
through  them  with  little  comment,  when  she  suddenly  uttered 
an  exclamation  of  surprise. 

"  How  very  curious  !  Did  you  do  this  ?  '  A  window  in 
the  Hotel  Cluny  ? '  Hubert  has  the  exact  fellow  of  it.  I 
know  the  drawing  well.  He  has  been  having  the  school 
windows  at  Rochford  made  from  it.  It  is  most  singular.  I 
could  have  declared  this  was  the  same  sketch." 

"  Really  ! "  I  felt  the  color  mounting  to  my  temples  under 
her  frank,  steadfast  gaze.  "  It  is  a  popular  subject.  Dear 
Miss  Neville,  would  you  give  me  that  screen  ?  the  fire  is  so 
hot.  Now,  if  you  have  cut  youV  pencil,  let  us  begin.  You 
must  hold  it  like  this." 

***** 

A  window  in  Miss  Neville's  room,  as  I  have  mentioned, 
opened  into  the  garden  below.  This  garden  communicated 
with  the  village  by  a  path  through  the  shrubbery,  which 
every  one  used  who  had  business  to  transact  with  the  young 
lady,  instead  of  going  round  half  a  mile,  by  the  great  en- 
trance. My  sofa  was  drawn  up  near  the  window,  which 
stood  open,  for  it  was  a  warm  April  day.  Miss  Neville  had 
left  the  room  for  a  moment,  and  my  head  had  dropped  upon 
the  pillow,  and  was  shaded  by  my  hand.  A  step  came 
along  the  gravel ;  it  ascended  the  steps,  and  a  shadow  fell 
across   the  room.     Not  till  then  did  I  raise  my  head  and 

look  up. 

The  person  who  stood  there  gave  a  sharp  scream. 

"  Good  God  !  what  do  I  see  ?      Tou  ?    Marie    Dumont ! 

Hush,  hush !  for  Heaven's  sake !     "What  are  you  about  here  ? 


328  RITA : 

Pray,  pray  don't  appear  to  know  me  —  my  name  is  Hope  — 
don't—" 

"  What  was  that  scream  ?  "  said  Miss  Neville,  running  into 
the  room.     "  Surely  some  one  screamed  ?  " 

Marie  was  leaning,  pale  as  death,  against  the  window- 
sUl. 

"  I  twisted  my  foot,  mademoiselle,  coming  up  the  step.  It 
is  nothing.  I  brought  you  home  the  embroidery,  and  I 
thought  you  would  Hke  to  know  I  have  two  moi-e  scholars." 

"  That  is  famous.  You  will  soon  have  more  than  you  can 
manage.  Mi*.  Rochford  was  inquiring  particularly  how  your 
boy  was  getting  on.  I  told  him  that  he  was  already  half 
English." 

The  fierce  look  I  had  once  before  seen  there  came  over 
her  face  ;  but  a  gentle  and  subdued  expression  quickly  suc- 
ceeded it,  as  she  said, 

"  Let  him  be  all  English,  so  that  he  be  like  Mr.  Eoch- 
ford  and  you.  All  we  have  we  owe  to  you,  through  him. 
Mademoiselle,  I  pray  to  the  good  Gotl  my  boy  may  never 
forget  it." 

When  she  was  gone,  Miss  Neville  said, 

"  A  singular  parishioner  for  our  quiet  little  village,  I  dare 
say  you  think  ?  The  fact  is,  Hubert  was  intex*ested  about 
her,  and  asked  me,  some  months  ago,  Avhether,  if  he  rented  a 
cottage  for  her  here,  I  thought  I  could  get  her  employment 
in  embroidering  and  teaching  French.  Rochford  Court  is 
so  isolated  —  so  far  from  any  gentlemen's  houses  —  that  this 
populous  district  seemed  to  offer  a  better  chance  of  success. 
I  promised  to  do  all  I  could  for  his  protegee,  and  she  came 
over,  and  it  has  answered  beyond  our  most  sanguine  expec- 
tations. She  has  now  seven  scholars,  who  are  too  glad  to 
avail  themselves  of  a  real  French  accent,  instead  of  the  — 
shire  version  of  Clapham-Seminary  French,  which  is  all 
Anchester  affords.  Besides  this,  she  teaches  the  art  of  em- 
broidery to  our  school  children,  so  that  in  process  of  time  we 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  329 

shall  be  populated  with  a  generation  of  brodeuses  ;  and  she 
makes  a  great  deal  by  ministering  to  the  vanity  of  our  far- 
mers' daughters  in  worked  collars,  etc.  Her  boy  goes  to  our 
village  school,  and  Hubert  means  to  put  him  into  some  trade 
by-and-by.  That  is  the  history,  present  and  future,  of  Marie 
Dumont.  What  her  past  may  have  been  I  never  inquired, 
but  it  was  a  sad  one,  I  am  sure." 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

It  was  dusk  when  Rochford  entered  the  room,  on  his 
return  with  Mr.  Neville.  He  came  up  to  my  sofa,  and  said 
a  few  commonplace  words.  We  shook  hands  like  people 
tolerably  well  acquainted  —  a  greeting  more  cold  than  cold- 
ness itself. 

Well,  I  had  dreaded   it   so   long  and  now  it  was  over  ! 
Candles  were  brought.     I   could  not  but  be  struck  by  the 
alteration  in  his  appearance  during  the  last  fortnight.     His 
face  was  very  worn  and  pale;  the  least  observant  would 
have   remarked,  "  There  is  a  man   bowed  down  by  some 
secret  care  !  "  and  the  struggle  to  cast  this  aside  rendered  his 
manner  almost  irritable  at  times.     I  glanced  at  Mrs.  Roch- 
ford.    Was  it  possible  that  a  mother's  eye  should  be  bhnd  to 
this  ?     Her  back  was  towards  me ;  but  presently  she  rose, 
and  Avalking  up  to  him  Avith  her  firm  step,  she  put  back  the 
hair  from  his  forehead  and  kissed  it.     Then  she  left  the  room 
without  a  word. 
'Maud  drew  a  stool  near    Rochford's   feet,  and  sat  there 
looking,  up  into  his  face  every  now   and  then  with  an  in- 
quiring glance,  not  without  a  shade  of  disappointment  in  it. 
He  appeared  unconscious  of  her  presence  ;  he  never  spoke 
or  lifted  his  eyes  from  the  fire  on  which  they  were  fixed.    At 
last  Maud  spoke,  and  in  her  usual  vein  ;  but  I  fancied  it 
was  with  some  degree  of  effort,  as  though  she  were  resolved 
not  to  entertain  any  foolish  fancies. 

(330) 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  .       331 

"  You  have  brought  down  the  London  fog  with  you,  cousin 
Hubert." 

No  answer. 

"  Come,  tell  us  some  news,  sir.  What  have  you  been 
doing  in  town  ?  " 

"  Law  and  lawyers  —  nothing  else,  Maud.  And  you  ? 
Riding  and  amusing  yourself,  I  hope,  while  I — " 

"  Oh !  don't  flatter  youi-self  you  were  the  least  missed. 
"We  have  been  very  busy  in  all  sorts  of  ways.  To  begin 
with.  Miss  Hope  has  been  giving  me  drawing  lessons." 

"  She  is  very  good,  I  am  sure." 

"  Yes.      You  would  'nt  take  the  trouble." 

"  My  dear  child,  I  never  knew  you  had  any  taste  for  it." 

"  Neither  did  I,  sir  ;  but  you  should  have  found  it  out,  as 
Miss  Hope  did.  Perhaps  you  're  not  aware  that  she  is  a 
great  artist  ?  I  intend  the  walls  of  my  boudoir  at  Rochford 
to  be  hung  with  her  pictures.  You  shall  be  her  fii-st 
patron  —  do  you  hear,  Hubert  ?  " 

I  heard  M?n  writhe  in  his  chair,  but  Maud,  quite  un- 
conscious of  the  effects  of  her  words,  continued, 

"  You  must  see  her  charming  sketches  after  dinner. 
There  is  one  of  a  window  in  the  Hotel  Cluny  —  " 

Rochford  suddenly  darted  forward  from  his  chair  to  poke 
the  fire.  In  doing  so,  a  small  case  fell  from  his  breast- 
pocket. 

"  Oh  !  by-the-by,  I  forgot  it.  That  bauble  is  for  you, 
Maud.  Say  nothing  about  it,  my  child  —  not  worth  thank- 
ing me  for.  What 's  o'clock  ?  It  must  be  time  to  dress  for 
dinner." 

He  leaned  his  head  between  his  arms  against  the  mantel- 
piece. Maud  held  the  bracelet  just  as  he  had  given  it  into 
her  hand,  her  eyes  fixed,  with  a  peculiar  expression,  on  her 
cousin.  The  painful  silence  was  broken  by  the  dressing- 
bell;  and  in  a  few  minutes  I  was  left  alone. 

The  Deanes  and  the  Bissetts  dined  at  the  Hall  that  day. 


332     .  KiTA : 

After  dinner  the  ladies  adjourned,  on  my  account,  from  tlie 
drawing-room  to  Maud's  boudoir,  where  Mrs.  Deane  gos- 
siped over  all  her  neighbors,  high  and  low,  with  pre- 
Raffaelite  minutiae  of  detail.  I  remember  that  a  certain 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hunter  were  under  discussion  when  the 
gentlemen  came  in  for  their  coffee.  Sometimes  a  subject 
which  has  no  interest  for  one  bears  indirectly  on  another 
which  has  :  it  was  so  in  the  present  case. 

"  Is  there  no  chance  of  her  recovery  ? "  asked  Maud. 
"  Poor  man  !  I  'm  very  sorry  for  him.  He  is  perfectly 
wrapped  up  in  her." 

"  No  hope  of  her  living  another  six  months,  I  'm  afraid. 
Sad  thing  —  very  sad  !  —  and  he  such  a  reformed  man,  toa, 
by  his  marriage  !  A  shocking  character,  I  'm  told,  before, 
but  impossible,  I  'm  sure,  to  find  a  better  husband.  Such  an 
attached  couple !  " 

"  It  is  very  strange,"  said  IMiss  Bissett,  shaking  her 
virtuous  little  head,  "  but  I  always  considered  that  a  perma- 
nent affection  must  be  founded  on  esteem." 

"  A  very  just  remark,"  said  Mr.  Neville,  who  had  just 
entered.  "  Gonciliat  amicitiam  et  conservat,  virtus.  A 
profound  truth,  which  the  ancients  did  well  to  recognize  —  " 

"  Oh  ! "  interrupted  his  daughter,  quickly,  "  I  'm  not  at  all 
sure  of  that.  One  hears  of  very  bad  people  inspiring  very 
strong  love.  I  believe,  on  the  contrary,  that  no  one  ever 
made  a  great  sacrifice  for  esteem.  It  is  a  sort  of  sentiment 
to  lend  money  on,  not  to  give  up  a  life  to." 

"  Well,  certainly,"  observed  Mrs.  Deane, "  there  is  "William 
Hunter,  the  brother,  who  is  a  most  estimable  person,  and  so 
is  his  wife,  and  yet  they're  any  thing  but  happy  —  quite 
unsuited.     That  is  in  favor  of  your  argument,  Maud." 

"  But  then,  you  know,  he  was  attached  to  some  one  else, 
and  both  parents  were  very  much  against  it,  and  it  was 
broken  off.  I  don't  think  he  was  ever  quite  the  same  after- 
wards." 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  333 

"  Ah !  vetitum  ergo  cupitum  —  true,  very  true,  from  our 
first  parents  downwards.     The  Roman  law  —  " 

"  Poor  Bill  Hunter ! "  cut  in  Mr.  Bissett  (in  nervous 
terror  of  the  Roman  law,  which  was  inflicted,  with  all  its 
severity,  on  Mr.  Deane  for  a  full  hour  afterwards).  "  A 
cheery  good  fellow  he  used  to  be,  but  since  he  married  his 
rich,  psalm-singing  wife  (beg  pardon,  Mrs.  Deane)  he  is  the 
most  melancholy,  chapfallen  man  in  the  neighborhood." 

"  My  love,"  remonstrated  his  sister,  "  a  more  virtuous, 
kind,  and  charitable  woman  than  Mrs.  William  Hunter  does 
not  exist.  If  her  husband  is  not  happy,  surely  it  cannot  be 
her  fauh." 

"  I  am  of  the  opinion  of  the  Dutch  philosopher,"  said 
Maud,  '•  who  declared  that  people  were  like  cheeses  cut  in 
half  and  rolled  down  hill,  and  that  very  seldom  the  right 
halves  came  together,  but  more  commonly  two  that  don't  at 
all  match.  When,  by  any  chance,  the  proper  halves  do 
meet,  I  think  nothing  in  the  world  ought  to  prevent  their 
joining." 

Miss  Neville  laughed,  and  walked  to  the  further  end  of 
the  room  to  cover  up  her  bird  cages  for  the  night.  As  she 
passed  the  lamp,  I  remarked  that  her  cheek  was  flushed, 
and  the  full,  firm  lips  more  firmly  set  than  ever.  Neither 
Mrs.  Rochford  nor  her  son  had  spoken ;  and  I  suppose  it 
occurred  to  Mrs.  Deane  as  ill-advised  to  protract  the  present 
discussion,  for  she  speedily  unravelled  another  skein  from 
her  inexhaustible  wallet  of  small-talk ;  and  soon  afterwards 
I  was  carried  to  my  room. 

Several  days  elapsed.  An  indescribable  weight  had 
fallen  on  the  spirits  of  the  little  party  since  Rochford's 
return.  For  myself,  my  sole  thought  and  desire,  of  course, 
more  than  ever,  was  to  escape  from  the  singular  and  humili- 
ating position  in  which  I  found  myself.  But  the  very 
intensity  of  this  longing  operated  against  my  recovery. 
The  feverish  and  harrowing  anxiety  to  which  I  was  a  prey 


334  RITA : 

prevented  my  sleeping  at  night,  and  I  grew  more  wan  and 
wasted  every  day.  My  position  would  have  been  even  less 
supportable  had  I  seen  much  of  Rorfiford;  but  he  never 
entered  Maud's  room  until  the  evening,  when  my  health  was 
a  very  plausible  excuse  for  retiring  early.  His  manner  on 
these  occasions  was  constrained ;  but  towards  his  mother 
and  Maud  it  underwent  many  variations  :  indifferent,  pre- 
occupied, and  sometimes  considerate  and  gentle  as  his  former 
self,  only  always  tinged  with  a  profound  melancholy.  Poor 
Mrs.  Rochford  !  her  brooding  fits  were  daily  longei",  hei* 
brow  more  and  more  contracted  with  the  hues  of  anxious 
thought.  Expiation  had  already  commenced  for  the  terrible 
mistake  which,  in  her  affection  for  her  son,  she  had  com- 
mitted. It  is  forever  going  on  around  us,  the  same  mistake 
and  the  same  expiation,  and  some  of  the  best  men  only  learn 
too  late  that  human  hearts  are  not  to  be  squared  and 
measured  according  to  a  given  plan,  as  they  lay  out  their 
houses  and  their  grounds  ! 

She  and  I  were  generally  alone  together  now,  for  Miss 
Neville  had  taken  to  longer  rides  than  ever  across  the 
country  — -  fast  and  furious  gallops,  from  which  the  grooms 
complained  that  the  horses  returned  as  tired  as  after  a  day's 
hunting.  If  Miss  Neville  herself  was  tired,  at  all  events 
she  never  complained :  her  face  had  a  hard,  indomitable 
look,  under  which  it  was  difficult  to  see  whether  she  suflfered 
any  thing.  But  I  caught  Mrs.  Rochford's  eyes  more  than 
once  anxiously  bent  on  her;  and  as  she  sat  there,  ap- 
parently tranquil  and  absorbed  over  her  embroidery,  I 
think  a  close  observer  would  have  detected  that  she  was 
working  in  secret  the  solution  of  some  difficult  problem. 

One  wet  afternoon,  when  she  could  not  ride,  this  was 
especially  the  case.  The  rain  falling  silently  outside,  the 
voices  silent  within ;  the  dogs  shaking  the  water  from  their 
backs  on  the  terrace,  without  so  much  as  a  cheerful  bark ; 
the  very  birds  in  theu-  cages  hushed,  —  no  wonder  that  Miss 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  335 

Neville,  submitting  to  the  influence  of  the  day,  was  un- 
usually preoccupied.  Mr.  Neville  at  last  came  in  with  the 
day's  Times,  and  instructed  us  as  to  the  foolish  nature  of 
that  journal  regarded  from  a  classical  i^oint  of  view.  He 
talked  a  certain  number  of  pages  ofl^,  and  though  no  one 
knew  exactly  what  it  was  about,  we  all  felt  it  a  relief,  I 
believe,  to  hear  an  uninterrupted  flow  of  words  after  the 
oppressive  silence. 

But  the  longest  afternoon  will  come  to  an  end,  and  the 
di'essing-bell  at  last  rang.  I  had  not  been  alone  five  minutes 
when  the  door  opened,  and  Hubert  Rochford  entered. 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  he,  rapidly,  "  I  thought  it  well  that 
you  should  be  prepared  for  a  death  which  I  have  just  seen 
in  the  paper,  and  that  you  should  learn  it  when  you  were 
alone.  It  is  that  of  a  person  you  had  no  cause  to  love  ;  but 
so  awfully  sudden  a  death  will  shock  you."  He  pointed  to 
a  paragraph : 

"  At  Algiers,  on  the  20th  instant,  of  cholera,  after  a  few 
hours'  illness,  Frances,  Lady  Greybrook,  in  the  51st  year 
of  her  age." 

I  dropped  the  paper. 

"Poor,  unhappy  woman!  dying  in  that  way,  without 
warning  or  preparation  !  God,  in  his  mercy,  forgive  her !  " 

"  Can  you  forgive  her  all  the  grievous  wrong  she  did  you  ? 
If  so " 

"Yes,  yes,  Mr.  Pochford.  What  am  I,  that  I  should 
judge  any  one  ?  I  have  forgiven  her  from  my  heart 
already." 

"  It  is  almost  more  than  I  can  do,"  he  exclaimed  violently. 
"  She  was  the  cause •"     He  broke  off  suddenly. 

Maud  stood  in  the  doorway. 

She  was  returning  to  fetch  something  she  had  forgotten, 
and,  arrested  by  Pochford's  excited  voice  and  manner, 
seemed,  for  a  moment,  irresolute  whether  to  advance  or 
retreat.     Her  clear,  searching   eyes   pierced   through  and 


336  RITA : 

through  me.  She  came  quickly  forward,  took  some  work 
from  the  table,  and  left  the  room  ;  but  her  cousin  had  passed 
out  before  her. 

That  night,  when  Miss  Neville  came  into  my  bedroom,  as 
she  always  did,  to  wish  me  good  night,  she  said,  in  her 
straightforward,  fearless  way, 

"  I  never  saw  Hubert  so  much  excited  as  he  was  to-day, 
when  I  came  into  the  room.  Do  you  mind  telling  me  what 
he  was  talking  about  ?  " 

"  He  was  showing  me  the  death  of  —  of  some  one  I  knew 
well  —  in  the  paper." 

She  considered  for  a  moment.     "  May  I  ask  who  ?  " 

"  An  unfortunate  person,  of  whom  it  is  not  probable  that 
you  ever  heard  —  Lady  Greybrook." 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  have  often  heard  of  her.  So  you 
knew  her  then  ?  And  why  do  you  suppose  my  cousin  was 
so  moved  in  speaking  of  her  ?  " 

"  She  destroyed  the  happiness  of  some  one  Mr.  Rochford 
once  knew." 

"  Of  course  you  mean  Miss  Percival." 

I  trembled  to  think  how  long  my  strength  Avould  stand 
this  sort  of  ordeal.     She  continued, 

"  I  suppose  you  knew  her  also  ?  Don't  be  afraid  of  talk- 
ing to  me  about  her.  I  know  the  whole  story :  he  told  me 
every  thing  himself,  and  I  felt  very  much  interested  about 
her,  until  she  married  that  horrid " 

"Married?" 

"Did'nt  you  know  that  she  is  now  Marquise  d'Ofort? 
^We  heard  very  lately  from  Paris  all  about  it.  I  believe  she 
was  really  to  be  pitied  though,  for  that  dreadful  father  of 
hers  made  some  disgraceful  match,  and  she  was  almost 
forced  to  accept  this  old  man — they  were  married  the  same 
day.  Mrs.  Fisher  wrote  to  us  next  day,  and  said  Paris  was 
talking  of  nothing  else." 

"  I  think  you  will  find  in  this  case,  as  in  many  others,  that 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  337 

Paris  tongues  are  far  in  advance  of  truth.  Miss  Percival  is 
certainly  not  married,  though  her  home  was  wretched,  as 
you  say.  Whatever  you  may  hear  about  her,  let  your  kind 
heart.  Miss  Neville,  remember  that  she  was  severely  tried. 
Do  not  be  too  hard  upon  her." 

"  So  you  think  she  is  not  married  ? "  said  Maud,  at  last. 
"  "What,  then,  has  become  of  her  ?  " 

"  "Who  knows  ?  "What  becomes  of  the  leaf  drifted  from 
the  tree  ?  I  beUeve  she  has  left  her  home,  and  sought  for 
an  asylum  somewhere." 

"  Have  you  no  means  of  finding  out  where  she  is  ?  " 
"  None,  at  present." 

"  Do  you  think "     She  broke  off,  and  after  a  pause, 

said,  "  Tell  me  all  you  can  about  her  character.  I  know 
she  is  brilliant  and  attractive,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  Men, 
of  course,  are  ensnared  by  that ;  but  I  want  to  know  more 
—  her  character.  "What  did  you  think  of  it  ?  Hubert  was 
not  a  fair  judge." 

"  She  was  full  of  faults  which  needed  severe  discipline, 
and  she  has  had  it,  in  sorrow  and  disappointment  of  many 
kinds.  Let  us  hope  that  they  have  j^roduced  some  good 
result." 

"  I  like  that :  I  was  afraid  you  were  going  to  tell  me  she 
was  a  saint.  I  like  her  the  better  for  her  faults.  I  mistrust 
phoenixes  —  religious  ones  particularly.  I  dare  say  you 
think  it  odd,  now,  that  I  am  not  furiously  jealous  of  this 
girl ;  but  really,  I  don't  believe  I  am.  I  should  like  to  ask 
you  —  I  have  a  great  curiosity  to  know  —  whether  she 
cared  for  my  cousin  ?  " 

"  How  could  she,  if  he  did  not  care  for  her  ?  You  would 
have  a  poor  opinion  of  her,  would  you  not,  Miss  Neville  ?  " 

"  Oh !  but  his  heart  was  there.  "Well,  it  is  difficult  to 
know  men,  as  you  will  find  out  some  day,  my  dear  Miss 
Hope.  I  don't  know  how  it  is  that  I  am  drawn  into  talking 
with  you  thus,  and  so  is  my  aunt,  she  says.     It  is  curious, 

22 


338  RITA : 

for  I  am  sure  you  don't  seek  it ;  but  I  suppose  we  both  feel 
instinctively  tliat  you  Iiave  judgment  and  penetration  —  and 
there  is  something  in  your  being  so  perfectly  unbiased  that 
makes  one  able  to  talk  with  you  about  these  things.  I  have 
a  great  deal  more  I  should  like  to  say,  but  I  must  n't  keep 
you  up  any  longer  now.     You  look  tired.     Good-night." 

What  Miss  Neville  said  of  her  aunt  was  curiously  con- 
firmed the  very  next  morning. 

The  post  came  in  late  at  the  Hall,  Mrs.  Rochfcrd  and  I 
were  together  when  the  bag  was  brought  in :  there  was  a 
letter  for  hei',  and  one  for  me.  Mine  was  from  my  sister  at 
Genoa,  written  a  fortnight  before,  and  announcing  her 
speedy  return  to  England.  She  affectionately  expressed 
sorrow  and  surprise  at  the  step  I  had  found  myself  obliged 
to  take.  Charles  was  shocked  to  hear  of  my  father's  mar- 
riage, and,  as  I  was  not  in  Paris,  they  had  given  up  their 
intention  of  stopping  there,  but  looked  forward  to  my  being 
with  them  in  London,  where  Rose  expected  to  be  confined. 
This  was  the  essence  of  several  sheets  of  foreign  paper, 
crossed.  The  letter  was  directed  to  Brook-street  (as  I  had 
desired  her,  when  I  wrote  from  London),  and  the  house- 
keeper there,  in  conformity  with  my  written  instructions 
from  Exton,  had  forwarded  it  on,  under  cover  to  "  Miss 
Hope."    Strange,  upon  what  trifles  hinge  the  greatest  events 

of  our  lives !    Had  it  not  been But  all  in  its  proper 

place :  other  things  of  that  ^lorning  must  first  be  told, 

Mrs.  Rochford  had  read  her  letter  twice  before  I  had 
finished  my  sister's  somewhat  illegible  epistle.  I  stuffed  it 
into  my  pocket  as  Mrs.  Rochford  rose  and  drew  a  chair 
towards  my  sofa  with  a  grave,  perplexed  air.  She  knitted 
for  some  time  in  silence.     At  last  she  said, 

"  When  one  has  committed  an  error,  one  ought  to  repair 
it  by  every  means  in  one's  power." 

I  did  not  see  that  this  self-evident  proposition  required 
any  reply,  and  she  continued,  after  a  minute, 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  339 

"  I  have  a  letter  here  which  will  gravely  affect  my  son. 
It  is  ^  question  of  rendering  justice  to  a  person  who  has  suf- 
fered great  injustice.  Unfortunately,  a  knowledge  of  the 
truth  will  not  tend  to  make  him  happier,  poor  boy !  rather 
the  contrary ;  and  yet  I  must  not  hesitate :  my  conscience 
says  I  must  not  —  but  it  is  a  cruel  thing.  If  I  could  be  sure- 
that  he  —  " 

She  waited  for  a  moment,  and  I  said,  gently, 

"  Truth  is  the  only  thing  in  this  world  we  can  be  sure  of, 
dear  Mrs.  Rochford.  Opinions  change,  but  that  is  un- 
changed.    The  nearer  we  can  get  to  it  always  the  better." 

"  You  say  well,  my  dear,  opinions  do  change.  We  live, 
sometimes,  to  see  the  events  for  which  we  pi-ayed4urn  out 
curses  instead  of  blessings.  It  proves  how  miserably  weak 
our  judgments  are.  It  should  teach  us  humility  :  but  it 
does  not  prevent  keen  self-reproach  at  the  same  time.  I 
was  always  too  proud,  and  now,  in  my  old  age,  I  am  being 
taught  this." 

"  However  much  you  may  have  been  mistaken,  Mrs. 
Rochford,  I  am  sure  that  you  thought  you  were  acting  for 
the  ultimate  happiness  of  —  of — your  son." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  I  was  too  ready  to  take  my  wishes 
for  convictions.  I  am  sure  you  knew  Miss  Lateward's  old 
pupil,  Marguerite  Percival,  though  you  have  never  men- 
tioned her.     You  know  that  my  son " 

"  Oh,  yes !  I  heard  all  that  —  a  tale  of  the  past." 

"  I  wish  it  were :  it  is  a  hving  and  terrible  reality  for  my 
poor  boy.  Since  his  engagement  to  Maud,  far  from  chang- 
ing the  current  of  his  thoughts,  he  is  moi'e  depressed  than 
ever.  A  month  ago,  when  he  heard  that  Miss  Percival  was 
to  be  married  immediately  to  the  Marquis  d'Ofort,  he  told 
me  that  he  believed  his  passion  was  cured  —  that  it  was  no 
more  than  a  sort  of  romantic  fi'iendsliii),  arising  out  of  pecul- 
iar circumstances,  and  that  he  felt  sure  she  never  cared  for 
him." 


340  EiTA : 

"  He  ascertained  that,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  urged  him  so  strongly  to  pause,  from  all  I  heai'd 
of  her  way  of  going  on,  and  the  set  ahe  was  in,  that  he  did 
so.  He  would  not  speak  to  her  of  love :  he  never  allowed 
her  to  see  how  much  he  cared  for  her.  He  watched  and 
waited,  and  at  last,  in  desperation,  he  left  Paris  suddenly. 
He  had  every  reason  to  believe  she  hked  another  person. 
Poor  fellow !  when  he  unexpectedly  came  home,  he  told  me 
all  —  cell.  I  thought  he  would  get  over  it  in  time.  I  was 
grievously  mistaken.    I  have  much  to  reproach  myself  with." 

"  Since  your  son,  Mrs.  Eochford,  so  easily  transferred 
himself,  need  you  reproach  yourself  so  much  ?  " 

"  Ah !  that  is  not  a  fair  way  of  putting  it.  In  the  first 
place,  it  was  not  weakness,  but  strength  of  principle  that 
made  him  resist  his  love.  And  it  was  not  without  a  long 
struggle  —  not  until  he  had  given  up  all  hope,  that  he  said 
that  perhaps  I  was  right,  that  he  had  better  make  for  him- 
self other  ties,  other  objects  of  thought  and  interest,  and  try 
and  forget  the  past.  I  urged  him  very  strongly  to  this 
course,  though  I  ought  to  have  known  his  character  better. 
But  mothers  ai'e  jealous,  my  dear  —  unconsciously  so.  They 
think  nothing  is  good  enough  for  their  children,  and  are, 
above  all,  afraid  of  believing  their  son's  reports  in  these  mat- 
ters. Had  I  been  firmly  persuaded  that  Miss  Percival  Avas 
sensible,  innocent,  and  high-minded,  such  a  girl,  my  dear,  as 
you  are  —  " 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Eochford,  I  pi'ay,  do  not  speak  of  me  —  " 

"  How  gladly  would  I  have  welcomed  her  as  a  daughter ! 
But  aU  I  heard  of  her  disreputable  father  and  her  miserable 
home  filled  me  with  apprehension  for  my  son.  God  knows 
now,  whether  it  would  not  have  been  better  than  —  Ah,  me ! 
it  was  always  my  dream  that  he  should  marry  Maud,  whose 
heart  and  disposition  I  knew  so  well  —  a  daughter-in-law  of 
whom  I  Avas  sitre,  and  who  would  be  content  to  sit  down 
quietly  in  the  old  house  —  (not  that  /  shall  hve  with  them ; 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  341 

I  move  into  the  dower-house,  a  couple  of  miles  off)  —  in 
sliort,'a  wife  suited  to  that  sort  of  life  not  always  wanting 
company  and  excitement.  Well,  after  all,  you  see  I  was 
Avrong  —  wrong  from  the  commencement  —  I  know  it  now. 
Hubert  has  a  true  regard  and  brotherly  affection  for  his  cou- 
sin :  he  will  always  be  kind  and  indulgent  to  her,  I  am  sure 
of  that ;  but  his  heart  is  not  hers,  and  he,  at  least,  will  not 
be  happy,  I  fear.  It  is  done,  so  I  say  nothing ;  for,  of  course, 
he  would  never  break  off  his  engagement.  I  can  only  hope 
that  Maud  is  blind,  poor  child !  and  does  not  feel  his  cold- 
ness, and  that  her  eyes  may  never,  never  be  opened.  You 
are  the  only  person,  my  dear  Miss  Hope,  to  whom  I  can 
speak  thus.  Between  my  son  and  me  there  always  existed 
the  most  perfect  confidence  and  affection,  and  now  a  cloud 
has  come  between  us.  There  is  something  at  his  heart  he 
cannot  speak  of  to  his  mother.  "We  are  no  longer  the  same 
towards  each  other." 

She  hastily  brushed  away  a  tear  from  her  eyes,  and 
opened  the  letter  in  her  hand. 

"  But  this  is  the  worst  part  of  all.  I  know  how  keenly  he 
will  suffer  when  he  finds  that  these  reports  were  false,  to 
which  I  gave  too  ready  credence.  My  Hubert  will  almost 
hate  me ! " 

I  had  never  seen  Mrs.  Rochford  so  moved  before.  She 
gave  me  the  letter  with  a  trembling  hand :  the  excitement  of 
unburdening  herself  of  the  secret  trouble  at  her  heart  had 
proved  too  much  for  her  self-command.  The  tears  were 
falling  thick  on  the  paper,  but  she  rose  to  her  full  height, 
and  looking  upwards,  as  if  to  invoke  strength  and  counsel, 
walked  to  the  window,  to  recover  her  composure. 

Tlie  letter  was  from  Lady  Janet  Oglevic,  at  Paris,  where 
she  had  arrived  a  few  days  previously.  My  eye  ran  down 
the  first  page  and  then  the  second,  until  I  came  to  these 
words : 

"  I  know,  dear  and  valued  friend,  you  would  wish  to  hear 


342 


RITA; 


the  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth,  concerning  a  certain  per- 
son.    No  one  lother  than  you  to  deny  her  fair  play,  and  she 
has  not  had  it.     To  my  disgust  —  which  I  made  bold  to  ex- 
press pretty  strongly  —  I  find  the  tales  which  my  relatives 
here  have  thought  fit  to  credit  and  to  circulate  concerning  the 
poor  girl,  are  vile  lies.     Not  a  word  of  truth  in  any  of  them. 
She  has  neither  married  that  old  profligate,  nor  has  she  gone 
off  with  Lord  Rawdon,  as  they  jwetended,  for  he  has  been  in 
Paris  ever  since,  and  is  a  changed  man,  they  tell  me.    There 
is  no  doubt  he  was  very  much  in  love  with  her.     He  has 
sold  his  horses  and  dismissed  all  his  servants,  and  is  going  off 
to  fight  for  the  Hungarians,  and  hopes  to  be  killed,  I  believe, 
like  all  disappointed  lovers.     Strange  things  people  do  in 
these  days,  to  be  sure !     To  return  to  poor  Miss  P.,  there  is 
no  doubt  she  has  run  away  from  her  home,  but  it  was  to 
escape  the  iniquitous  conspiracy  of  her  father  and  his  new 
wife  to  marry  her  against  her  will.     I  honor  her  for  having 
resisted  all  their  machinations,  and  I  could  really  excuse  her 
running  away,  if  I  knew  that  she  was  respectably  married — 
even  to  a  shoemaker.     But  I  can  find  out  nothing  about  her, 
except  that  she   is  in  England.     Whenever  her  father  is 
asked,  he  professes  ignorance,  and  says  he  supposes  when  his 
daughter  is  tired  of  wandering  about,  she  will  return  to  him. 
He  confessed  to  some  one,  however,  that  she  was  with  a 
respectable  English  family,  and  if  so,  she  is  better  than  she 
could  be  at  home.     That  wife  of  his  leads  him  a  pretty  life, 
I  hear :  I  'm  glad  of  it.     It  would  not  interest  you  to  hear 
of  the  scenes  that  are  said  to  take  place  in  that  establishment 
ah'cady ;  and  I  have  not  Mrs.  O.'s  pen  for  scandal.     I  try  to 
believe  it  was  through  inadvertence  she  wrote  as  she  did : 
unfortunately,  I   must   confess,  she  was  always  prejudiced 
against  Miss  P.,  and  jealous  of  her  besides  —  as  I  told  her 
plainly.     Women's  tongues  do  enough  mischief,  my  dear  old 
friend,  but  their  pens  do  much  more.     So,  lest  I  should  wax 
bitter  against  my  own  kith  and  kin,  I  '11  stop. 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  343 

"  I  hope  Hubert's  marriage  may  answer  your  expectations. 
You,  know  my  opinion  of  it ;  so  I  will  only  say,  that  I  shall 
be  delighted  if  I  am  mistaken,  and  if  he  has  really  forgotten 
a  certain  person ;  for  I  know  this  is  the  thing  nearest  your 
heart,  and  that  you  are  delighted  now  that  all  chance  of  the 
other  is  at  an  end.  You  '11  do  me  the  justice  to  say  I  never 
encouraged  it.  She  had  been  brought  up  in  such  a  school, 
that  it  would  have  been  a  great  risk  (as  I  always  told  you) 
setting  her  down  as  your  young  squire's  wife  in  the  country. 
But  a  more  honest-hearted  young  woman  does  not  exist,  I 
believe  :  I  have  never  had  good  reason  to  change  that  opinion 
since  the  first  day  I  saw  her.  So  be  good  enough  just  to 
give  the  lie  to  these  scandaftus  tales.  Though  it  is  not  likely 
that  you  will  ever  come  across  her,  or  even  hear  of  her  again, 
still  truth  is  truth.  Give  my  compliments  to  Miss  Lateward, 
and  please  to  tell  her  all  this,"  etc. 

I  laid  down  the  letter,  and  reflected  on  the  strange  influ- 
ence this  old  lady,  personally  so  little  known  to  me,  had 
exercised  already  on  my  life.  She  had  now  placed  in  my 
hands  the  power,  it  might  be,  of  changing  my  whole  future. 
Never  was  a  stranger  position.  It  needed  but  a  word  from 
me  —  and  I  would  not  iiave  spoken  it  then  —  no,  not  to 
have  saved  my  life  ! 

The  window  was  open,  for  it  was  a  mild  May  day ;  just 
wind  enough  to  float  the  dappled  clouds  across  the  pale  blue 
sky,  and  to  disturb  the  tops  of  the  beeches  opposite.  The 
door  opened  to  Miss  Neville,  and  the  sudden  draught  carried 
the  letter  from  my  lap,  fluttering  to  the  floor.  I  could  easily 
reach  it,  however ;  and  I  looked  for  Mrs.  Rochford  to  return 
it,  but  she  had  left  the  room.  Maud  sat  down  silently  to  her 
work ;  then  presently  she  came  and  stood  by  my  sofa. 

"  You  look  ill ;  what  is  the  matter,  Miss  Hope  ?  I  am 
afraid  you  are  suflering  more  to-day." 

"  No,  no ;  on  the  contrary,  the  doctor  found  my  ankle  so 
much  better  this  morning,  that  I  may  be  moved  to  Exton,  he 
says,  in  three  or  four  days,  now."  • 


344  RITA : 

« I  have  persuaded  my  aunt  to  send  for  Miss  Latevvard 
and  Violet.  She  says  she  should  like  my  cousin  to  know 
you ;  indeed,  I  think  it  is  your  society  that  has  kept  my 
aunt  here  herself  so  much  longer  than  she  intended.  They 
arrive  on  Wednesday  —  you  must  wait  to  see  your  old 
friend.  But  you  are  so  dreadfully  pale,  Miss  Hope  ;  I  am 
sure  you  are  not  well.  That  letter  contains  some  bad  news, 
I  am  afraid  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no !     It  is  not  even  mine.     Your  aunt  gave  it  me  to 

read." 

"  Wlio  is  it  from  ?  " 

"  Lady  Janet  Ogilvie." 

"  Oh,  give  it  me !  Dear  old'  lady !  I  always  read  her 
letters  to  my  aunt.  You  need  make  no  secret  of  it.  I  know 
that  she  is  a  great  friend  of  Miss  Percival's,  and  all  that  she 
has  said  in  her  favor,  and  I  am  curious  to  see  what  she 
thinks  of  her  conduct  now  —  how  she  explains  it  away  — 
for  I  suppose  she  does  so." 

"  Tliis  letter  was  clearly  not  meant  for  you,  Miss  Neville. 
Indeed,  you  must  not  read  it.  AVhat  relates  to  that  other 
person  is  simply  a  refutation  of — " 

The  door  opened,  and  again  the  draught  filled  out  the 
muslin  curtains,  and  fluttered  every  thing  about  the  room. 
Mrs.  Eochford  entered  with  Mr.  Bissett.  Maud  stooped  to 
pick  something  from  the  floor. 

"  Good  day,  little  woman  !  How  are  you  getting  on  ?  and 
when  are  you  coming  back  to  us  ?  " 

"  I  hope  on  Tuesday,  Mr.  Bissett." 

«  Maud,  Maud !     What  is  the  matter,  child  ?  "  cried  Mrs. 

Eochford. 

I  turned  round ;  hut  if  Miss  Neville's  face  exhibited  any 
strong  emotion  the  instant  before,  it  had  already  completely 
passed,  as  she  replied,  calmly, 

"  Nothing  at  all,  aunt.  But  let  us  leave  Mr.  Bissett  to 
flirt  with  Miss  Hope,  for  I  want  you  to  read  to  me  some  of 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  345 

this  letter  of  lady  Janet's  —  which  is  n't  the  least  intended 
for  me,  I  know." 

Mrs.  Rochford  took  the  letter  from  her  niece's  hand,  and 
they  passed  into  the  library  together. 

"  I  say,"  whispered  Mr.  Bissett,  leaning  his  elbows  on  his 
fat  little  knees,  so  as  to  bring  his  face  closer  to  mine,  "  things 
are  going  on  in  a  queer  way  here,  ain't  they  ?  He  is  a  rum 
sort  of  lover,  if  all  I  hear  is  true ;  never  with  her,  always 
moping  about,  solitary,  and  looking,  I  am  sure,  as  if  he  'd 
seen  the  Neville  ghost,  who  roasted  his  wife  up-stairs.  I 
should  be  afraid  of  his  following  the  example,  if  I  was 
Maud.  She's  not  the  girl  of  spirit  I  took  her  for  if  she 
stands  such — " 

"  Dear  Mr.  Bissett,  don't  you  know  that  it  is  impossible 
to  judge  for  other  people  in  these  matters?  Who  among 
your  acquaintance  ever  married  the  sort  of  person  you 
expected  ?  " 

"  That 's  true  enough.  Perhaps,  like  the  old  woman  in 
the  play,  you  think  it  is  better  '  to  begin  with  a  little  aver- 
sion ? '  Lord !  how  I  laughed  at  that,  I  remember,  at  the 
Bath  theatre,  more  than  thirty  years  ago.  It 's  the  reason  / 
never  married.  Miss  Hope,  I  never  could  find  a  woman  I 
had  an  aversion  to !  He !  he !  But  seriously  now,  sister 
and  I  often  talk  this  business  over,  and  she  persists  in  say- 
ing that,  because  they  're  both  excellent,  steady  young  peo- 
ple, they  — " 

"  Hush  !  Mr.  Bissett,  I  am  afraid  of  your  being  overheard. 
Pray  let  us  change  the  subject.  It  is  no  business  of  ours,  is 
it  ?  Would  you  kindly  look  on  the  floor,  I  think  I  dropped 
an  envelope." 

"  Not  visible  to  the  naked  eye,  my  dear  young  lady." 

"  IIow  provoking !  Perhaps  it  has  blown  out  of  window. 
What  shall  I  do?" 

"  It  is  not  upon  the  terrace,"  said  he,  looking  out.  "  There 
is  nothing  but  Miss  Maud  stepping  out  of  the  library  win- 


346  RITA:   AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

dow,  and  the  peacock  strutting  up  and  down  —  perhaps  he 
has  taken  to  writing,  and  has  borrowed  your  envelope  —  the 
impertinent  coxcomb  !  Well,  upon  my  life,  now,  that  is  the 
queerest  couple  !  There  is  Eochford  coming  up  the  avenue, 
and  immediately  Maud  sees  him,  she  almost  takes  to  her 
heels.     Very  strange,  to  be  sure ! " 

But  I  am  too  disquieted  to  listen  to  Mr.  Bissett.  Further 
seai'ch  after  the  missing  envelope  is  equally  unavailing.  If 
it  has  not  blown  away  among  the  trees  — 

The  old  gentleman  at  last  takes  his  departure,  and  the 
afternoon  passes  without  my  again  seeing  Maud.  But  to- 
wards dusk  Mrs.  Eochford  comes  into  the  room,  and  says,  in 
her  sorrowful  voice, 

"  It  is  at  last  done.  He  took  the  letter  more  calmly  than 
I  had  expected  —  not  a  reproachful  word  or  look :  he  only 
said,  '  I  should  have  known  it  all  along,  mother.'  He  looked 
so  miserably  ill,  poor  dear  fellow,  I  had  not  the  heart  to 
remonstrate  when  he  said,  soon  after,  that  he  must  go  to 
London  on  business,  and  should  be  away  some  days.  '  Make 
the  best  excuse  you  can  to  Maud,  for  I  have  letters  to  write 
which  will  prevent  my  being  with  you  this  evening.*  He 
leaves  us  to-morrow  morning  at  daybreak.  God  knows, 
Miss  Hope,  how  it  will  all  end ! " 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

A  LETTER  lay  upon  the  dressing-table  that  night  when  I 
was  wheeled  into  my  bedroom.  Before  I  looked  at  the  hand- 
writing I  felt  certain  as  to  the  writer.  I  knew  it  came  from 
Hubert  Rochford.  But  not  until  Betsy  had  left  me,  with  a 
light  upon  the  table  by  my  bedside,  did  I  tremblingly  break 
the  seal,  and  read  as  follows : 

"  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  continue  living  under  the  same 
roof  with  you,  day  after  day,  eternally  parted  as  we  are.  I 
can  bear  it  no  longer.  I  leave  this  to-morrow,  and  I  shall 
not  return  until  all  chance  of  our  meeting  again  is  over. 
But  at  this  moment,  for  the  first  and  last  time  in  my  life,  I 
must  open  my  heart  to  you,  my  whole  heart,  not  to  say  that 
I  have  loved  you  with  all  my  soul  and  strength  —  you  must 
know  that,  as  well  as  I  know  that  you  never  cared  for  me. 
Otherwise  I  dare  not  write  thus.  Miss  Percival.  But  it  is 
because  you  never  felt  towards  me  more  than  a  friendly 
indifference  which  has  latterly  hardened  into  contempt,  and 
because  I  cannot  live  under  that  contempt,  that  I  must  speak 
once,  before  I  am  silent  forever. 

"  You  say  to  yourself —  I  have  read  it  in  your  eyes  — 
'  He  loved  me  once,  and  yet  so  light  a  thing  is  this  man's 
affection,  that  he  could  believe  every  vile  story  tlwit  was  cir- 
culated about  me,  and  has  even  transferred  his  love  already 
to  another  woman.'  Hear  me  in  justification.  Our  acquaint- 
ance was  a  strange  one  from  its  commencement.  Though 
young,  I  felt  myself  called  on,  in  some  peculiar  way,  to  bo 

(347) 


348 


RITA; 


your  mentor.  I  had  a  Quixotic  desire  to  save  you  from  the 
dangers  that  surrounded  you ;  and  this  I  endeavored  to  do 
partly  through  Lady  Janet.  My  efforts  failed,  but  I  learnt 
two  things :  that  you  had  a  strength  and  clearness  of  mind 
which  would  j^rove  good  shields  to  you,  and  that  I  was  not 
the  man  ever  to  captivate  your  heart.  If,  once  or  twice,  I 
thought  otherwise,  you  quickly  undeceived  me.  When  I 
spoke  of  better  things  than  you  were  accustomed  to  hear  of, 
you  showed,  indeed,  some  interest ;  but  I  suffered  tortures 
when  I  perceived  that  you  took  a  far  other  deeper  interest 
in  the  conversation  of  a  man  against  whom  I  tried  to  warn 
you,  for  I  knew  his  character  too  well.  I  believed  that  he 
loved  you  as  he  had  loved  a  dozen  other  Avomeu  before,  and 
my  heart  was  full  of  bitterness  when  I  saw  you  exercising 
your  influence  over  him.  I  heard  it  often  repeated  that  you 
were  vain,  frivolous,  worldly.  I  tried  to  believe  it.  You 
often  disappointed  me ;  sometimes  carried  away  by  excite- 
ment, sometimes  flattered  by  what  was  utterly  repelling  to 
me.  It  was  natural,  for  you  were  young,  and  it  was  all  new 
to  you ;  but  my  mother  implored  me  more  and  more  in  her 
letters  not  to  try  and  obtain  your  affections  —  to  fly  the 
temptation  rather,  while  there  was  yet  time. 

"  Then  began  that  violent  struggle  within  me  Avhieh  has 
been  going  on  ever  since.  My  rigid  education,  the  self-con- 
trol my  mother  taught  me  from  a  child  to  exercise,  have 
imposed  a  restraint  on  me  which  has  passed  in  the  Avorld  for 
coldness.     I  am  content  it  should  be  so  :  but  to  you  — 

"  I  will  not  refer  to  the  circumstance  that  at  last  deter- 
mined me  to  quit  Paris  at  a  few  hours'  notice.  SufHce  it,  I 
believed  I  had  convincing  proof  of  your  attachment  to  that 
other,  and  I  resolved,  by  a  sudden  wrench,  to  terminate  this 
struggle.  My  excellent  mother  only  exacted  one  promise 
from  me  on  my  return  home  —  that  I  would  not  see  or  write 
to  you  for  the  space  of  twelve  months.  '  If  at  the  end  of 
that  time  your  affections  are  still  the  same,  my  son  — '     But 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  349 

long  before  then  we  learnt  that  you  were  to  be  married ! 
Ever  since  I  was  a  boy,  my  mother  has  talked  of  Maud  as 
my  future  wife.  She  now  again  urged  on  me  her  many 
admirable  qualities.  Had  I  needed  another  proof  of  them, 
her  treatment  of  poor  outcast  Marie  would  have  been  suffi- 
cient. She  was  content  to  take  me  as  I  was,  knowing  that  I 
had  no  heart  to  give  —  that  its  fire  was  already  burnt  out  at 
another  altar  —  and  so  I  became  bound  to  her,  and  am  hers 
for  life !  « 

"  Then  came  the  crudest  trial  of  all.  Why  did  we  ever 
meet  again?  Far  happier  for  me  had  we  not  done  so. 
The  mystery  you  assumed,  coupled  with  all  the  tales  that 
reached  us,  perplexed  me,  while  I  felt  all  the  old  love 
within  me  unextinguished.  And  that  love  was  now  crime. 
I  tried  to  harden  my  heart  against  you  —  in  vain  !  Bitter 
has  been  the  pang  to  see  my  mother  growing  day  by  day 
to  love  you,  and  to  think  of  what  might  have  been !  And 
now  that  the  Marguerite  Percival  who  has  been  so  calum- 
niated stands  acquitted  in  her  eyes  —  now  that  the  shadow 
that  overhung  you  has  been  fully  cleared  this  day  —  it  is 
but  tardy  justice,  most  brave  and  noble-hearted  girl,  to 
humbly  beg  your  forgiveness  for  having  wronged  you  in 
thought  for  one  instant.  My  heart  is  stirred  to  its  very 
deeps  when  I  think  of  all  you  must  have  suffered.  I 
well  understand  now,  how,  going  forth  into  the  world 
alone  to  fight  your  way,  you  thought  it  well  to  leave 
your  name  behind,  Avith  home  and  its  associations.  I  see 
it  all. 

"  Farewell !  Pray  for  me,  Marguerite,  for  I  am  very 
wretched.  But,  happily,  I  am  the  only  one  to  suffer.  Some 
day,  when  the  present  cloud  is  overpast,  you  will  be  happy. 
For  myself,  I  dare  not  look  forwards  —  it  is  a  dreary  path. 
With  high  aims  and  aspirations  at  the  onset,  I  have  already 
broken  down !  I  tried  to  teach  others,  and  was  ignorant  of 
the  first  great  secret  of  life,  myself. 

"  God  bless  and  keep  you.  "  R." 


350  RITA : 

My  fingers  slowly  relaxed  their  grasp  of  the  letter  ;  it  fell 
upon  the  coverlid,  as  my  head  sank  back  upon  the  pillow. 
And  there  I  lay,  in  a  sort  of  trance  or  stupor,  which  was  not 
sleep,  I  believe,  though  it  closely  resembled  it.  I  say  I 
believe,  for  what  followed,  was  it  the  working  of  my  per- 
turbed imagination  in  a  dream,  or  an  actual  transaction  of 
which  I  was  dimly  conscious  ? 

Methought  a  figure  clothed  in  white  glided  into  the  room, 
ani  pronounced  my  name  in  a  low  clear  voice,  and  behold, 
I  could  not  speak  !  The  words  labored  in  my  breast,  but 
found  no  outlet.  And  the  figure  came  and  stood  beside  the 
bed,  and  its  eyes  shone  down  on  me  with  a  sorrowful  light. 
Then  it  knelt  and  prayed  in  the  awful  stillness,  through 
which  I  heard  the  ticking  of  the  clock  outside,  and  the 
beating  of  my  heart  within.  And  as  the  figure  rose  from 
its  knees,  with  a  calm  face  as  of  an  angel,  methought  its 
eyes  fell  upon  the  open  letter.  There  was  a  start  —  a 
moment's  hesitation  —  and  the  trembling  hand  was  stretched 
towards  it. 

"  I  am  justified,"  said  the  low  clear  voice,  "  for  this  is 
the  only  way  to  remove  all  doubt.  To-morrow  will  be  too 
late." 

The  perspiration  started  on  my  forehead.  In  vain  I 
endeavored  to  call  out  —  to  move  hand  or  foot.  I  strujro-led 
under  this  terrible  nightmare  till,  from  pure  exhaustion,  I 
fell  into  a  profound  sleep  — ■  oblivion,  at  least  —  dreamless, 
without  a  care. 

I  awoke  to  daylight  streaming  through  the  window,  and 
the  early  chattering  of  birds.  There  stood  the  night-light 
burnt  down  into  its  socket,  and  there  the  letter  on  the  bed  as 
I  had  left  it.     The  clock  struck  six. 

"  He  is  off  by  this  time  —  it  is  all  over  !  —  a  few  more 
days  now,  0  my  heart,  and  all  these  shall  have  passed  away, 
and  you  sliall  hear  their  name  no  more  !  " 

I  lay  moaning  and  tossing  on  my  pillow  as  Betsy  entered. 
She  drew  back  the  curtains,  and  threw  onen  the  window. 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  351 

"  Oh,  my  !  well,  pcatience  me !  If  tliere  's  not  the  young 
squire  a  sweethartiu'  with  miss  in  the  garding  at  this 
hour ! " 

"  Impossible  !  Mr.  Rochford  was  off  an  hour  ago.  The 
mail  passes  at  half-past  five."  / 

"Yes;  but  Mrs.  Rochford  was  took  ill  last  night,  and 
tumbled  in  a  faint  like  in  her  room,  and  got  a  severe  con- 
fusion of  the  cheek,  which  ain't  of  no  account,  and  was 
quickly  got  to.  But  miss  gives  Jeames  a  bullet  this  morn- 
ing to  take  to  him  —  that  is,  the  young  squire  — just  as  he 
were  starting,  so  in  course  he  stopped." 

An  hour  later  came  a  knock  at  the  door.  I  was  lying 
on  the  sofa,  dressed,  when  Mrs.  Rochford  entered  in  a 
morning  wrapper,  pale  and  agitated,  and  yet  with  a  happier 
look  in  her  eyes  than  I  had  ever  seen  there.  She  motioned 
Betsy  to  leave  the  room,  then  silently  threw  her  arms  round 
my  neck. 

"My  child  —  my  dear,  dear  child!"  she  said,  at  last,  "I 
know  all,  and  so  does  Maud.     How  blind  I  have  been  ! " 

"  What  —  what  do  you  mean,  Mrs.  Rochford  ?  " 

"  That  my  boy  is  free.  Maud  has  herself  cancelled  their 
engagement.  She  told  him  that  she  did  not  love  him  as  a 
wife  should  —  that  she  felt  herself  unsuited  to  him  —  and 
she  also  told  Iiira  something  else.  It  only  wants  a  word 
from  you  now  to  make  you  really  my  child.  I  felt  as  if 
you  were  so  from  the  moment  I  first  nursed  you,  though  I 
never  suspected  the  truth.  Forgive  me,  dear  —  forgive  me 
all  the  misery  I  have  caused  you,  and  let  me  be  the  bearer 
of  glad  news  to  my  poor  boy  in  compensation.  Maud  says 
she  knows  you  love  him,  though  he  will  not  believe  it. 
Thank  God !  it  is  not  too  late.  Now  that  I  know  you,  it 
seems  so  strange,  dear  child,  that  I  should  ever  have  thrust 
you  from  me ;  but  you  do  forgive  me  and  Mm,  don't  you  ? 
Say  that  you  forgive  him,  at  least,  for  it  was  my  doing,  dear 
—  aU  my  fault." 


352  RITA : 

The  strong  woman  fairly  sobbed  upon  my  bosom.  And 
she  Avas  the  bearer  of  my  message,  reader  —  of  such  a 
message  as  I  never  thought  to  have  sent  on  earth,  though 
I  hoped  the  angels  would  carry  it  to  him  some  day  from 
heaven. 

And  when  by-and-by  he  sat  beside  me,  holding  both  my 
hands  within  his,  and  those  deep,  earnest  eyes  fixed  upon  my 
face,  it  seemed  too  great  happiness  to  be  true — the  sudden 
revulsion  was  hardly  natural.  There  was  one  test  which 
yet  remained  to  be  made  —  words  which  I  felt  must  be  said, 
and  which  I  trembled  to  say. 

"  Hubert,  is  there  no  question  you  would  ask  ?  No  doubt 
you  would  have  explained  ?  Once  I  disdained  to  justify 
myself  to  you  ;  now  the  case  is  different.  Hubert  Roch- 
ford's  wife  must  not  even  be  suspected.  Is  there  nothing 
you  would  know  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  dearest.  I  desire  only  to  forget  so  much  of 
the  past  as  has  intervened  since  I  first  knew  you.  I  believe 
few  women  are  so  tried,  and  fewer  still  come  out  of  the  fire 
unscathed  as  you." 

"Are  you  sure  of  that?  What  if  I  told  you  that  I  left 
home  under  Lord  Rawdon's  protection  ?  " 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

"  I  should  only  feel  the  more  keenly  how  much  you  must 
have  suftered  before  you  took  that  step ;  and  I  should  know 
that  you  had  repented  of  it  in  time.  Against  all  facts  I 
should  bring  the  fact  of  your  pure,  candid  brow  and  eyes, 
my  Rita.  That  is  enough  for  me.  If  you  have  erred,  I 
desire  not  to  know  it ;  so,  too,  have  I,  and  with  far  less 
excuse.  Let  us  forget  this  past.  I  am  trying  to  do  so 
while  I  hold  you  thus  in  my  arms.  Help  me,  dearest,  and 
never  let  us  refer  to  that  dark  season." 

"  If  I  am  to  be  your  wife,  Hubert,  you  must  know  all. 
From  my  husband  there  must  be  no  reserve."  And  when 
I  had  told  him  my  story,  I  added,  "  These  are  dark  and 


'     AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  ^  353 

troubled  waters  from  which  to  take  a  wife,  Hubert.  Have 
you  thought  well?  The  world's  tongue  has  been  too  busy 
with  my  name  to  be  easily  stopped  when  — " 

"  Hush ! "  said  he,  smiling,  and  putting  his  hand  before 
my  mouth,  "  I  must  stop  yours  to  begin  with.  You  are  a 
pearl  of  great  price,  my  Rita,  and  they  only  who  dive  deep 
find  such.  We  have  gone  through  the  troubled  waters,  and, 
with  God's  blessing,  all  now  shall  be  fair  sea." 


23 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

•  It  is  related  —  and  we  will  not  question  the  truth  of  the 
story  —  that  a  certain  traveller,  on  visiting  a  Chinese  burial- 
ground,  expressed  his  surprise  to  see  that  none  but  infants 
were  buried  there,  the  ages  inscribed  on  all  the  tombs  aver- 
aging from  one  to  three  years.  "  We  calculate  the  length 
of  a  man's  life,"  was  the  reply,  "  not  by  the  days  he  has 
lived,  but  by  the  amount  of  happiness  he  has  enjoyed." 

According  to  this  estimate,  I  may  say  I  am  ten  years  old. 
We  have  been  married  just  that  time,  and  each  year,  instead 
of  taking  from,  has  added  something  to  my  almost  perfect 
happiness.  We  have  two  children,  and  between  my  husband 
and  them  I  have  never  any  inclination  to  stir  from  home. 
My  dear  mother-in-law,  who  Hves  in  the  dower-house  a  mile 
or  so  from  us,  smUes  at  my  increasing  laziness  each  year, 
when  the  time  comes  round  for  us  to  go  to  London  ;  for  my 
husband  is  now  in  Parliament,  and  fulfils  his  duties  there,  as 
he  does  in  every  position,  faithfully  and  well.  If  you  wish 
to  know  his  politics,  they  are  pretty  nearly  those  of  Mr. 
Gladstone. 

I  take  a  great  interest  in  our  village,  and  flatter  myself  I 
am  nearly  as  efficient  in  my  superintendence  of  the  school,  as 
if  I  had  not  been  a  Paris-bred  young  lady.  A  never-faihng 
source  of  pleasure,  also,  are  the  improvements  about  our  old 
place.  It  is  hardly  recognizable  since  we  thrcAV  down 
hedges  and  fences,  and  turned  the  swamp  into  a  lake,  and 
planted   groves,  and  laid   out  terraced  gardens  round  the 

(354) 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  355 

house.  Every  one  has  his  weak  point ;  this  is  mine :  I  think 
my  home  perfection.  If  you  come  and  see  me,  remember 
you  say  something  pleasant  about  a  j)lace  that  is  not  richly 
endowed  by  nature,  giving  more  scope  for  imj^rovement  at 
the  hand  of  man. 

I  made  up  my  mind  that  I  would  not  write  this  until  I 
could  finish  my  story  by  announcing  that  Maud  Neville  was 
married.  We  began  to  despair  of  her  ever  finding  any  one 
for  whose  sake  she  Avould  relinquish  her  liberty,  and  who  she 
would  believe  sought  her  for  herself  and  not  for  her  large 
fortune.  At  last  —  and  she  is  nine  and  twenty  —  she  has 
found  this  happy  some  one,  and  who  do  you  think  he  is  ? 
My  brother  Ernest ;  who  returned  from  India  eighteen 
months  ago  on  sick  leave,  and  came  down  to  us  at  once  to 
spend  the  winter.  A  very  handsome  man  he  is  ;  and  though 
looking  ill  when  he  first  arrived,  his  long  rides  over  the 
downs  (when  Maud  and  he  galloped  far  ahead  of  us)  soon 
restored  his  color  and  spirits.  Having  been  long  without 
seeing  any  thing  so  fair  and  fresh  as  Maud,  he  naturally  fell 
in  love  at  first  sight:  she  was  "just  a  woman  to  my  taste," 
as  he  remarked  the  first  evening  to  me,  "  not  a  flight  above 
me,  as  some  women  are,  but  a  jolly  girl,  without  any  kind  of 
humbug."  It  did  not  by  any  means  follow,  however,  that 
Maud  should  reciprocate  this  sudden  flame,  any  more  than 
that  of  the  many  young  gentlemen  who  had  by  turns  bowed 
down  before  her.  She  was  nearly  three  years  his  senior ; 
but  Love  lauirhs  at  such  obstacles,  and  before  lonjr  it  became 
evident  that  Maud's  obdurate  heart  was  at  length  captive.  I 
am  bound  to  say  that  my  brother  was  ignorant  of  Maud's 
fortune  ;  when  he  proposed,  he  asked  her  to  accompany  him 
back  to  India  in  six  months'  time,  and  this,  as  much  as  any 
thing,  showed  her  the  disinterestedness  of  his  attachment.  A 
finer,  more  noble-hearted  fellow  it  is  impossible  to  meet ;  the 
very  pattern  of  a  soldier  as  he  was,  and  of  a  keen  sportsman 
and  liberal  country  gentleman  as  he  now  is.     And  though  I 


356  RITA : 

cannot  say  that  he  is  of  much  use  as  a  magistrate,  or  in  car- 
rying out  our  various  schemes  for  improving  the  condition 
of  the  poor,  he  is  the  best  rider  across  country,  the  best 
racket-player  in  the  Anchester  court,  the  handsomest  man  in 
our  county  militia,  of  which  he  is  now  major,  and  indisputa- 
bly the  most  popular  host  in  the  neighborhood.    For  I  forgot 
to  mention  that  Mr.  Neville  died  four  years  ago,  and  as  the 
young  squire  entered  a  cavalry  regiment  when  the  Crimean 
war  broke  out,  INIaud  lived  alone  at  the  Hall  until  her  mar- 
riage.    Poor  Willie  Neville  was  one  of  those  who,  having 
borne  the  burden  and  heat  of  the  day,  sank  from  exhaustion 
at  the  eleventh  hour,  just  as  his  regiment  was  embarking  to 
return   home.     Heavy  was   the  sister's   mourning   for   her 
early  friend  and  companion  ;  and  it  was  a  merciful  arrange- 
ment of  Providence  that  she  should  meet,  a  few  months  after- 
wards, that  other  friend  and  companion  who  will  never  leave 
her  now,  but  has  promised  to  share  her  joys  and  sorrows  till 
death  do  part  them.     So  she  still  lives  at  the  Hall  which  is 
hers :  she  is  very  happy,  and  the  last  time  I  was  there  it 
Avas  for  the  christening  of  a  baby,  who  was  named  Willie  in 
memory  of  the  last  young  squire. 

My  twin-brothers  are  doing  well  in  their  several  profes- 
sions, partly  owing  to  my  husband's  exertions,  but  more  still 
to  their  own  merits  and  perseverance.  Arthur  has  a  good 
curacy  in  the  west-end  of  London.  He  is  earnest  and 
devoted  in  his  labors,  and  an  especial  favorite  with  the 
female  portion  of  his  congregation,  being  of  gentle  demean- 
or and  high  church  principles.  He  occasionally  gets  a 
holiday  and  comes  down  to  us,  when  he  and  my  husband 
have  long  theological  discussions  after  dinner,  from  which  I 
am  always  glad  to  escape.  Roger  has  not  yet  served  his 
time  for  his  lieutenancy,  but  he  writes  to  me  in  high  spirits 
from  Canton,  looking  forward  to  the  hope  of  distinguishing 
himself,  as  there  is  a  chance  given  us  of  "  licking  the 
Chinese." 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  357 

Dear  old  Latewarcl  lives  still  with  Mrs.  Rochford,  tlaou"-li 
Violet  has,  of  course,  long  ceased  to  require  a  governess.  It 
is  an  understood  thing  that  she  will  never  leave  her,  as  they 
suit  admirably,  and  in  the  event  of  her  daughter's  marrying 
some  day,  Mrs.  Rochford  will  want  a  companion  in  her 
solitude. 

Rose  has  a  very  large  family.  She  is  now  Lady  Murray, 
old  Sir  Charles  having  been  gathered  to  his  fathers  a  few- 
months  since.  The  present  baronet  is  little  changed  since 
I  first  knew  him,  except  that  he  rides  sixteen  stone,  and 
does  not  blush  when  he  comes  into  a  room  —  perhaps 
because  his  face  is  in  a  more  continuous  blush  than  it  was 
then.  They  are  very  happy  in  their  way,  which,  of  course, 
would  not  be  my  way,  but  I  have  learnt  to  let  people  be  so 
according  to  their  own  fashion  and  capacity.  For  though  I 
could  wish  that  my  sister  were  less  fond  of  dress,  and 
thought  more  of  her  children's  minds  than  of  their  faces  ; 
and  though  when  we  meet  I  always  find  the  conversation 
flags  after  the  first  hour  or  two,  seeing  that  it  is  reduced  to 
■people  and  is  shut  to  the  world  of  books  and  thoughts  ;  and 
though,  moreover.  Sir  Charles  and  she  have  many  a  little 
tiff,  in  which  his  "  Rose  is  Avashed,  just  washed,  by  a 
shower  "  of  tears,  plentifully  at  command,  I  know  that  noth- 
ing could  materially  increase  her  happiness,  and  that  few 
husbands  would  be  as  indulgent  as  hers. 

It  only  remains  for  me  to  speak  of  two  persons  who  have 
played  prominent  parts  in  these  pages. 

Rawdon  was  not  killed  in  the  Hungarian  war,  as  he  ex- 
pected. He  lives,  and  is  still  unmarried.  He  played  an 
active  part  in  the  Crimea,  taking  out  provisons  in  his  yacht, 
visiting  the  hospitals,  and  serving  as  a  volunteer  at  the 
siege  of  Sebastopol.  He  came  to  sec  me,  in  London,  on  Iiis 
return.  H^  was  much  changed  :  grown  very  gray  and  old, 
but  calm  and  cheerful  in  his  manner.  He  brought  with  him 
a  little   girl,  whom  lie  told   me  he  had   adopted  after  tlae 


358  RITA:   AN   AUTOBIOGKAPHT. 

battle  of  Inkermann,  where  its  father,  who  was  a  sei-geant, 
was  killed. 

"  The  poor  fellow  died  in  my  arms.  I  promised  to  look 
after  his  child,  for  the  mother  had  been  carried  off  by  fever 
some  weeks  before.  I  took  it,  and  it  has  been  with  me  ever 
since.  I  had  no  object  in  life,  and  we  all  want  one,  Mrs. 
Eoehford,  so  this  child  has  become  mine  now." 

He  smiled  —  tliat  old  pecuhar  smile  of  his  —  and  we 
shook  hands  cordially. 

I  said  I  was  "  almost  perfectly  happy,"  but  I  too,  like  the 
rest  of  the  world,  have  my  '  skeleton  in  the  closet.'  In  the 
sunshine  of  my  life  there  stands  one  figure  which,  though 
from  afar,  sometimes  sends  its  dark  shadow  across  my  home. 
That  shadow  is  my  father's.  I  have  seen  him  twice  durin<»' 
these  ten  years,  and  the  object  of  each  visit  has  been 
to  apply  to  my  husband  for  money.  He  and  his  wife  occupy 
different  apartments,  and  are  strangers  to  one  another.  The 
effort  Madame  made  to  be  admitted  into  society  havin"- 
failed,  she  no  longer  required  the  tiresome  and  expensive 
luxury  of  a  husband:  so  she  allows  him  a  small  pension, 
upon  the  express  condition  that  he  does  not  inflict  his 
society  upon  her.  His  habits,  I  fear,  remain  unaltered. 
As  in  youth  and  middle  life,  so  in  old  age;  the  same 
appetites,  but  with  enfeebled  powers.  And  Society,  acting 
upon  her  well-known  generous  principle,  has  become  vir- 
tuous and  severe  towards  him,  and  nods  distantly  in  the 
street  to  the  once  handsome  Guardsman,  now  that  he 
shuffles  and  is  somewhat  bent  with  time :  and  Society  shakes 
her  head,  too,  over  his  way  of  life,  now  that  he  has  only 
himself  to  vent  his  spleen  upon,  though  she  smiled  and 
palliated  the  same  in  that  gay  and  pleasant  gentleman  who 
was  breaking  his  wife's  heart,  and  bringing  his  children  to 
beggary. 

THE   END. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Form  L9-32m-8,'57(C8680s4)444 


MM    UUUcJbyi^yb     9 


^:y    -:-Tas.- 


